


Gotham: Secret of the Labyrinth

by emilythecapricorn



Series: Gotham: Secret of the Labyrinth [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Gotham (TV)
Genre: AU, Action, AlternateUniverse, Batman - Freeform, Comedy, CoryMichaelSmith, Drama, Eccomiah, GCPD, Gotham, Gothamtv, Humor, Multi, Nygmobblepot, OC, Sirens, barbarakean, benmckenzie, brucewayne - Freeform, cameronmonaghan, captaincrunch, davidmazouz, dc, dccomics - Freeform, ecco - Freeform, ednygma, edwardnygma - Freeform, francescarootdodson, gothamcity, gothamfanfiction, gothamfic, gothamonfox, gothams6, gothamseason6, gothamstory, gothamtvshow, gothamvillains, harveybullock, jeremiahvaleska, jimgordon, leethompkins, originalcharacters - Freeform, oswaldcobblepot, queryandecho, robinlordtaylor, tacobell, thepenguin, theriddler
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-09
Updated: 2019-05-24
Packaged: 2019-11-14 06:15:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 39,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18047087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emilythecapricorn/pseuds/emilythecapricorn
Summary: Set in a slightly alternate universe, Gotham's most iconic characters find themselves at emotional, mental, and physical odds when a traumatic taco truck incident nearly takes out one of their own. From villain to vigilante, suspicions are raised, and a personal investigation set out by none other than Oswald Cobblepot himself nearly rips the city apart. Relationships are formed and broken, trust and dependability are tried, and tensions increase as each individual struggles to correspond with one another amidst the history and mystery that they already have; and a mythic discovery will determine the fates of the resulting turmoil.(PLEASE READ NOTES FOR PRE-CONTEXT AND BACKGROUND INFORMATION TO HELP UNDERSTAND THE STORY BETTER! THANK YOU!)





	1. Look both ways before you cross the street

**Author's Note:**

> HELLO EVERYONE! My name is Emmaline, and I am so thrilled to be on Archive! It's my first time trying it, but I joined because I absolutely love writing and storytelling, and wanted to be involved in a public community for writers far and wide to come together and share their passions. For this particular story, I had the privilege of collaborating with the ever so elegant Zella Morgan, and let me tell you it's an absolute blast working with her. I am so glad that our love for Gotham was able to bring us together and create this whirlwind of a story, and we are both so ecstatic to be able to share it with the world. However, the full product/season is still in the works, so we're not entirely done yet, but we have enough ground layed out to provide wholesome content a few times a week now. 
> 
> Some things that I would like to note before we dive into the beautiful madness that is Gotham City-  
> 1\. This story is going to have many parts, and is styled just like the show- details and events that happen over time to eventually build up to and lead a bigger plot. A lot of stuff happens with the investigation and such early on, but it was necessary and important for the characters to endure in order for the Labyrinth to do its work and for the story to be told as honestly as possible. I just wanted to put that out there so no one would think that the title is misleading or would get confused about the direction of the story :) 
> 
> 2\. It doesn’t have a distinguished time and place, but there are definitely events from the show that are canon in here. What Zella and I did was really take the building blocks of Gotham that have already been laid out, and mold something new; something different and original, something fresh that still attributes to what Gotham has already but also is told by a new set of voices and minds. We kept elements from the show as well as did our own spin and twist on it, and it was such a blast to work with her and these characters. Gotham is a whacked up city, but it’s the best whacked up city, and Zella and I couldn’t be more honored and proud to have been able to participate in a world such as this one. We hope you enjoy! 
> 
> 3\. If you like this story, please feel free to share! Go tell your friends about it! Post about it on social media! We worked really hard on this and it would be much appreciated if you shared :)
> 
> NEW CHAPTERS WILL BE ADDED EVERY WEDNESDAY-FRIDAY-SUNDAY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 1 of "Gotham: Secret of the Labyrinth"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Read the end notes for who plays who

According to Edward Nygma’s calculations, it had been exactly seven years, two-hundred and twenty-three days, and fifteen-hours since it had last snowed in Gotham City.  


Ed wasn’t necessarily puzzled per se, he was just rather bewildered at why all of a sudden a developing blizzard had hit town. It was quick, biting, and as strong as a current, sweeping people off their feets and savagely pushing past anything in its way. But for Ed, the snow was fascinating and something of an adult’s childs play. He wrapped a shamrock scarf around his neck and snuggled into some snow boots that were too tight for comfort, and then walked out the door with a kit of tools. 

As soon as he opened the front door to his apartment building, a gust of wind blew him back against the stairs. “OWWWW!” Ed rubbed his calves, snatching up the tool kit and meandering outside. He quickly slammed the door shut and headed downtown to the park. 

The frigid flakes crunched underneath him, and the acoustic sound of his boots treading over the snow was starting to become pleasing. He had to pull up the scarf to his mouth though, because with every step the wind got stronger and stronger; and he had to fight harder to keep moving.  


On the other side of the street, Jeremiah Valeska stepped out of a black sedan and into the blinding cold, clenching his fists to keep the circulation in his hands going. As he turned around to get off the curb, he saw a Taco Bell delivery truck plow into Edward Nygma. “Oh dear. That’s not good.” 

* * *

 

Oswald couldn’t remember the last time he had seen snow in Gotham. Looking out the front window of the parlor, watching it completely consume the outside world, it almost felt as if he had never seen such a sight.

Luckily for him, he was warm inside, settled on his cushioned sofa by a crackling fire that Olga had so graciously started for him. He had no plans of stepping foot out into the freezing world of Gotham City today, if he could help it. The cold had always aggravated his leg, after all.  
No, to him, it was much more worth it to stay in the safety of his own home, sipping hot tea and reading the morning paper. According to the headlines, the storm outside had almost seemingly come out of nowhere. He clicked his tongue in amusement, eyes scanning down the paper.

Elsewhere, never far from Jeremiah’s side, Ecco followed her green-haired leader out of the sedan, pulling her jacket more firmly around her as the cold air bit at her skin, turning the tips of her ears pink. As they rounded a corner, her eyes followed Jeremiah’s as they watched none other than Edward Nygma himself get struck down by a twenty-six foot cargo truck. She quickly covered her mouth with a gloved hand to stifle the giggle that escaped her lips. Really, she knew she shouldn’t laugh at such a thing, but something about watching the lanky, green-clad man be met with such misfortune amused her. “Think he’s still breathing?” she asked Jeremiah, pulling herself back together as much as she could.

“Hmm. I don’t know.” Jeremiah squinted through his sunglasses, wearing them despite the sun being blocked out by the colossal field of white, powdery air. “Do you think we should... _do_ something?” He mused. A faint smile twinged at the corner of his rosy lips. 

Ecco grinned at the sight of Jeremiah’s lips slightly upturing. She was relieved to know that she wasn’t the only one finding enjoyment in this situation. She shrugged. “Up to you, Puddin’, but if you ask me, I think the man is far beyond our help,” she giggled, clasping her hands behind her back as she stared at poor, fallen Edward Nygma.

Jeremiah watched, beguiled, as the ninety-year old truck driver halted the vehicle and stepped out. The hopeless man waddled over to Ed, whose body had been twisted like a pretzel. “Let’s go see, shall we?” He fingered a gun in his pocket and started out into the street.

Ecco pursed her lips as she watched the truck driver approach Ed, Jeremiah suggesting that they go take a look. As much as she had hoped on just spending the day with him, enjoying the atmosphere, she supposed a bit of fun with the Riddler couldn’t hurt either. She would like to see if he was alive or not.

She followed Jeremiah over to the diver and his victim, tilting her head as she took in the image of Ed’s twisted body. “Wow! Looks like you got him good, mister,” she laughed at the driver. “Still breathin’ though,” she pointed out, watching the rise and fall of Ed’s chest.

“W,-what are you guys doing here?” The driver began to panic, in fear that he would be reported and sent to jail. “I, I didn’t do it on purpose! I swear! I never meant to hurt nobody!”

Jeremiah raised a hand, silencing the weary driver. “Shh. Just relax.” He examined the blood running down Ed’s face and leaking out from the back of his head. There were red blotches on his glasses, and Jeremiah could swear that Ed’s left femur was half-way bursting through his pants. “Why don’t you, take a walk?” He turned back to the driver. “We’ll take care of this.” 

The driver’s eyes darted back and forth from Ecco to Jeremiah. “Uh, you sure?” 

“Positive.” The word slipped out like liquid gold. 

The driver swallowed. “Oh, okay then.” He hopped in the truck and drove off.

“So what are we gonna do with him?” Ecco asked, looking back up at Jeremiah, raising her one remaining brow. It’s not like any hospital would take too kindly to two of the city’s most notorious criminals waltzing in with a bloody Riddler. 

Jeremiah’s tongue outlined the roof of his mouth. “Well-” he started to circle Ed. “We could take him to the GCPD, use him to gain us social status; or use him as leverage. We could also take him somewhere else and have some fun, but I doubt he would stay alive for long.” He stopped right in between Ed’s legs, one foot next to the left and one to the right. “Such a pity. He was...a stimulating man.” 

“Eh, I guess so,” Ecco said with a shrug, nudging Ed’s leg with her foot. She wasn’t really a huge fan of riddles. If anything, they only gave her a headache. Still, the man was supposedly a genius. “Oh! We could bury him in the snow and see how long it takes for him to turn blue?” she suggested gleefully, bouncing on the heels of her feet. 

Jeremiah puffed air out of his nose; the icy breath swirling in the air like smoke. “Better yet, I know just what to do of this...tragic situation.” He whipped out his phone from his Gucci coat pocket and began to dial a number. It hit voicemail. Perfect. “Hello Brucie, I have a package for you. Come down to the intersection at Fifth Avenue and Horton Street; but hurry! It won’t last long!” He cackled maniacally and clapped the phone shut. “Now, my dear Ecco, let’s go to that private restaurant we were heading to shall we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CAST (Who plays who)  
> Jeremiah Valeska- Emmaline  
> Edward Nygma- Emmaline  
> Ecco- Zella  
> Oswald- Zella  
> Mo Ronn (Taco Bell driver)- Emmaline


	2. Cabin Fever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2 of "Gotham: Secret of the Labyrinth"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Read the end notes for who plays who.

Meanwhile, in the GCPD precinct, Jim Gordon was pacing restlessly around his and Harvey Bullock’s desk. “Gah, the snowstorm is making everything in here run a thousand times slower. We can barely get any cars out, let alone go and investigate cases. All the crimes committed outside have no evidence now that it’s been buried and contaminated by snow.” He sat down, massaging his forehead. “Snow days in elementary school were a lot more fun.” 

Harvey took a swig from his flask as Jim paced, snorting at his comment about school. “Well I, for one, like it. I think we deserve a bit of a break, don’t you?” he asked, leaning further back into his chair. While he knew their work was important, he also knew that everything Jim had said was correct. What could they really do with the whole city turning into the North Pole outside?

“Crime never takes a break. Nor should we.” Jim tapped a pencil against the side of the desk, thinking hard. “There’s gotta be _something_ we can do.” He racked his brain, suddenly coming upon an idea.

“Hey why don’t we look at old cases that were never solved?”

“Slave driver,” Harvey mumbled under his breath, taking yet another drink from his flask. He should have known better than to think that today might have actually been peaceful. “Jim, they’re old, unsolved cases for a reason. Can’t we just let sleeping dogs lie?” he asked, even though he already knew the answer. This was just how things seemed to go with Jim, always making sure he stayed in line and did his job, despite Harvey wanting to lie back. “If you really wanna do something, you could always make a nice, warm cup of coffee,” he suggested with a grin. 

Jim refused to give up. “C’mon Harv, Gotham never sees snow days and we should take this opportunity to catch up on the crap that this city’s had to go through.” He sounded like a mother trying to coax her child into bedtime. 

Harvey rolled his eyes at Jim’s insistence although he’d secretly be worried if Jim did anything otherwise. “Alright! Alright!” he surrendered, holding up both his hands in defeat, still clutching onto his flask. “We can look through the stinkin’ old case files, but if we don’t find anything good, I say we call it a day,” he compromised, but knowing Jim Gordon, they were bound to find something.

A warm smile washed over Jim’s face. “Thanks Harv. I promise this won’t be a waste.” He sprung off his swivel chair and headed for the Archives, not waiting for Harvey to catch up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jim Gordon- Emmaline   
> Harvey Bullock- Zella


	3. The Good Samaritan aka Bruce Wayne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3 of "Gotham: Secret of the Labyrinth"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CAST (Who plays who)-  
> Bruce Wayne: Emmaline  
> Alfred Pennyworth: Zella Morgan  
> Lee Thompkins: Emmaline  
> Oswald Cobblepot: Zella Morgan

Back at Wayne Manor, Bruce Wayne sat in his father’s study with a math book in his hand, attempting to do something that even Batman struggles with- Algebra two. He was a childhood prodigy and genius, but sometimes he wanted to get up and toss his scientific calculator into the raging fireplace. 

Exhausted and in need of a break, he strolled down to the kitchen where Alfred was making dinner. “Good evening, Alfred.”

“Evening, Master Wayne,” said Alfred, looking up from the dinner he was preparing, offering the boy a smile. “Shepherd's pie tonight, as planned,” he added, sticking the pie into the oven and setting the timer. “How are your studies coming along?”

Bruce shuffled his feet and sat down on a barstool. “They’re fine.” He quickly changed the subject. “Do you remember the last time it snowed in Gotham? I believe I was nine when it happened.” 

“I believe you’re right, Master Wayne,” Alfred agreed, cleaning off his hands in the sink, taking the moment to glance out at the snow covering the gardens. “Your father took you out on that little red sled of yours. It took him hours to get you to come back inside,” he reminisced, smiling to himself before turning back to Bruce. “Any exciting plans for this evening, sir?” he questioned, wondering if Miss Kyle was going to make any appearances.

“No. Just my schoolwork.” Bruce said nonchalantly. “Why, did you have something in mind?”

“Well, I just thought that since this is the first snow in seven years you might want to go out and enjoy it, is all,” Alfred stated, clasping his hands behind his back.

Bruce thought about it. He wasn’t a huge outdoors fan, and much rather preferred to stay inside with Alfred and his solitude. But, his faithful butler was right; Gotham snowing this intensely was like the sky turning pink. He sighed. “Okay then. I’ll go get properly dressed.” 

“Very good, Master Wayne,” Alfred said with a nod. As important as Bruce’s studies were, it was also equally important for him to enjoy himself as a young boy would on a day such as today. “Dinner should be ready by the time you return.”

Bruce gave him a thin-lipped smile and walked back to his room. When he was passing by the East staircase hallway, he noticed that the household phone had a message on it. Furrowing his eyebrows, Bruce slowed down and checked it. 

A wash of cold seeped through his body as the voice of Gotham’s most psychotic terrorist mocked him through the phone, alerting him that a ‘package’ had been left on the corner of Fifth Avenue and Horton Street. Heart racing, Bruce spun around on his heel and darted back to the kitchen. “ALFRED! I THINK SOMEONE LEFT A BOMB FOR ME ON FIFTH AVENUE!” 

Alfred sighed, turning off the oven and turning to face his young master. “I’ll bring the car around, Master Wayne.” And with that, a frazzled Bruce Wayne and exasperated Alfred Pennyworth raced to the classic Cadillac and sped off to the intersection where the Riddler almost died. 

* * *

 

Looking out the car window, the only thing Bruce could see through the blank white pigment was just more blank white pigment; but as his eyes adjusted over the fairly long ride, he spotted a crumpled body just a couple feet in front of the Cadillac. “ALFRED LOOK OUT!” 

Alfred reacted quickly. He spotted the body just as Bruce called out, swerved to the left, and rolled right up onto the curve before they could crash into a stoplight. “You alright back there, Master Wayne?” Alfred asked, glancing back at the boy before looking back to the body lying on the street. “Oh dear,” he began, recognizing the figure almost instantly. No one but one man wore that much green. 

Bruce felt his pulse thud in his veins. He didn’t know whether he should be worried or relieved, or how the heck to react. There was no handy guide for how to act in situations like these. Especially if you weren’t exactly on good terms with the person dying. “Uh…” he swallowed. “Yes, I’m fine Alfred. Mr. Riddler though...I don’t know.” He gazed, wide-eyed, at Ed’s contorted shape, completely in shock. 

“Agreed,” said Alfred, staring out the windshield of the car and taking in Ed’s bloody figure. “Well, I guess we can’t leave the bloke lying there,” he decided with a sigh, pulling his gloves on more firmly as he began to exit the Cadillac. “Come along, Master Wayne.”

Alfred slid out of the car, walking around to the unconscious Riddler and hoisting him up over his shoulder. Thankfully, the green fellow weighed hardly anything. Although, it was unfortunate that it looked like he’d be having to try and scrub blood out of his coat tonight.

“Up to the front, if you would, Master Wayne,” requested Alfred after opening the door to the back seats. “He’s as long as a lamppost, this one.”  
Bruce bit his lip. He felt that something wasn’t right; that he needed to do something more. “Shouldn’t we take him to the hospital? He needs professional help!” As devious as the Riddler was, it wasn’t right to let him straight up die in the middle of an intersection.

“There’s a hospital a few blocks up, I believe,” Alfred assured the boy, being as careful as he could as he lowered Mr Nygma’s body onto the back seat of the Cadillac, trying not to think too much about how the leather seats would surely be ruined. “Perhaps Miss Thompkins could give him a lookover.” 

Bruce nodded, feeling a slight pang of doubt in the back of his mind but pushing it away, knowing that if he left without doing anything, then his actions would haunt him forever. The Riddler was still a person, however messed up he was. “Okay. Let’s go now. He doesn’t have a lot of time to spare.” Bruce slid into shotgun and held his breath, going over the lessons that he used to give himself about being calm in the face of uncertainty.

About fifteen minutes later, Alfred was back to carrying the limp body of the Riddler through the doors of Gotham General Hospital, doing his best to not knock the man’s glasses clean off of him. 

Already, there were about twenty eyes on them, taking in the sight of a young Bruce Wayne and his butler carrying a bloodied-up Riddler.

Bruce’s cheeks flushed a fervid red although he had just emerged from the numbing storm outside. Every corner turned, his ears caught up on some frenzied whispers or snide comments about what Gotham’s most privileged orphan was doing with a beat-up criminal. It infuriated Bruce that there were people in this town who would actually believe that he had attempted to kill Edward Nygma, and commit murder, but he ignored them for now and marched through the halls to find Lee. He and Alfred finally managed to reach her at the main nurse’s station, where she was filing some papers. “Lee!”

“Bruce? Alfred? What-” Lee’s jaw dropped as she saw the horrific, deformed sight. “Oh, oh my gosh! I, what,-” She zoomed over and tagged some doctors to move Ed onto a gurney. She began to bark medical jargon and dished out orders before addressing Bruce about the situation. “Bruce, Alfred, really I’m so sorry but I can’t speak right now. Edward needs to get into surgery ASAP. Could you please tell me briefly what happened?” 

“I’m afraid we don’t know, miss,” said Alfred, watching as doctors began to roll Mr Nygma away. “We found the bloke left in the snow, all bloody and twisted,” he tried to explain the best he could.

“Master Wayne received a call from none other than Jeremiah Valeska. I reckon he must have roughed him up a bit.” Though Alfred couldn’t really see a reason why. Why would Jeremiah Valeska try to kill the Riddler? He supposed there was no understanding psychopaths.

Lee did her best not to look revolted, but having known Bruce and Alfred for so long now, there was really no point in playing the ‘oh the doctor says everything is going to be okay’ card. She just nodded gravely. “Jeremiah. Of course.” She cursed silently. “Alright well I have to go now, but can you two please report this to the GCPD? They need to be informed as soon as possible.” 

“Certainly, miss,” Alfred said with a curt nod. “Come along, Master Wayne,” he addressed the boy, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Dr. Thompkins will take care of Mr Nygma.” He hoped that would be enough to comfort the boy. While neither of them were necessarily on good terms with the notorious Riddler, he knew Bruce would worry nonetheless. Now they could leave the man in the care of Miss Thompkins and the police. 

Lee gave a forced smile and then quickly skidded off; her high heels reverberating off the granite tile. 

“Yeah…” Bruce fastened the buttons of his coat once more, and squinted his eyes past the chalky snow outside to make it back into the Cadillac; embarking on yet another trip to the GCPD. 

Hours later, back at the Van Dahl Mansion, Oswald Cobblepot slammed his cellphone shut, nearly crushing it in his grip. He had just received a phone call from none other than the famous billionaire brat himself, Bruce Wayne, and was informed of the critical condition Ed was in. Leave it to Ed Nygma to be found in the snow all tangled up like a human slinky. 

“OLGA!” he shouted, leaping from his couch. “Tell Gabe to bring the car around this instant!” he ordered, hobbling over to the front door to grab his coat and scarf.

Looks like his day in was going to be more stressful than he had planned.


	4. Edward Nygma is my favorite Spice Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 4 of Gotham: Secret of the Labyrinth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CAST:   
> Edward Nygma/Morphine Riddler- Emmaline   
> Oswald Cobblepot- Zella   
> Lee Thompkins- Emmaline 
> 
> *I apologize for not uploading yesterday, I may have to change the upload dates to Tuesdays, Thursdays, Saturdays due to scheduling conflicts. Will make announcement if need be.

Even before Oswald Cobblepot was in her line of vision, Lee Thompkins knew that the infamous Penguin had entered the building. No one in Gotham made as much of a fuss as he did when he was angry. Lee still wasn’t sure if that was admirable or pathetic.

  
She sighed and turned around, figuring it would be easier to go down and meet Oswald than wait for him to start harassing all the other nurses with questions and attempting to summon her to his attention. “Oswald! Oswald, it’s me Lee!”

“Finally!” Oswald growled, turning away from a nurse who now looked like she was either going to cry or run off. “Where’s Ed? None of these other incompetent nurses seem to be able to answer me!”

  
Lee took a moment to compose herself before even beginning to confront Oswald. She cleared her throat. “Ed was admitted five hours ago-”

  
“ _FIVE HOURS AGO_?!” Oswald repeated, absolutely fuming as a vein in his temple began to swell. “Why was I only just informed?!”

  
“- and had to go through multiple surgical procedures. He’s currently in the ICU, and actually just awoke a little less than half an hour ago-”

  
“I should have been told the SECOND Ed arrived! I had to be called by _Bruce Wayne_ , of all people!” Oswald snapped, his hands forming into clenched fists by his side. “Take me to him!” he barked, already pushing past Lee and marching towards some double-doors.

  
“Ow- OSWALD!” Lee scampered ahead, a little bit creeped out by the fact that a guy with a limp was somehow beating her down the halls. She snatched the crook of his elbow. “Ed is on a LOT of pain medication right now, just to let you know-”

  
“I DON’T CARE ABOUT THAT!” Oswald practically shrieked. He was tired of all of this back and forth nonsense. If Ed was hurt, he needed to see him. “Just take me to him!” he said once more, yanking his elbow from Lee’s grip and straightening out his suit.

  
Lee opened her mouth to try and calm him down but knew it was useless. She reluctantly led him to where a slap-happy Edward Nygma lay, giggling despite the severe condition that he was in. The back of his head was waddled in a huge bandage; and numerous needles and IVS were hooked up to his arms. His left foot was in a cast and propped up above the bed, but the worst sight of all was the small bag of blood that was strapped on to the side of the bed, collecting extraneous fluids that were still being flooded out of his body.

  
“Oswald...Ed was in a severe, severe trauma accident. He has multiple injuries, including a broken femur which will require a wheelchair for the next three to six months depending on how fast he recovers. He had a chest tube installed because his lungs collapsed, in addition to a ruptured spleen that was thrown into an impromptu splenectomy to get it removed. The bag of blood you see on the side there is leftover from his cardiac tamponade, which basically means that his heart was bleeding and hemorrhaging; but we’re so lucky that he didn’t die on the table. Ed could’ve had a stroke or pulmonary edema; and we’re so fortunate that he made it through.” Lee bit her lip, saying all that for now. However, there was one slight thing she held back, for it was far too tough to tell Oswald at this very moment. She would let this steam a little and then, if he hadn’t already realized what had happened himself, break his heart. 

Oswald found himself momentarily speechless. Everything Lee had said was… more than a lot to take in. He and Ed had been through the ringer, to say the least, but his feelings still hadn’t changed; and not even Edward Nygma deserved a fate such as this.

  
He fully took in Ed’s state, avoiding his face for the time being. He was truly a mess, and Oswald wasn’t quite sure what he was supposed to do in a situation like this. It’s not like many people talked about how you were supposed to behave after the man that broke your heart and left you for dead got in a terrible accident. Ed could have died, and maybe after the drugs wore off, he’d wish that he had.“Wha- what am I supposed to do?” he asked Lee, turning back to her, his voice much more quiet than before. Hid throat felt like it was threatening to close on him. He wasn’t even sure Ed wanted to see him, much less have him care for him in any way. Then again, it wasn’t like Ed had anyone else. “ _What happened_ to him?”

  
Lee reached out to comfort Oswald but quickly withdrew her hand, not wanting to trigger him somehow. The Penguin was his most dangerous and unruly when he was utterly devastated, and she didn’t want to pry whilst he was standing directly in front of whatever was left of Ed Nygma. “We haven’t been able to find out yet. Bruce contacted the GCPD and they have a suspect, but the description is vague. They think it’s most likely a hit-and-run though. Nothing else would do this kind of damage to him.”

  
Ed snickered, a Jerome-like grin plastered on his face.

  
Oswald glanced back at Ed, his attitude making him feel slightly uncomfortable. “A hit-and-run?” he repeated, reflecting on that bit of information. Leave it to the GCPD to not be able to find a single clue. If he wanted something done right, he’d more than likely have to do it himself.

  
Slowly, Oswald approached Ed’s bedside, almost hesitant. There were so many ways this situation could go, but Oswald hoped with Ed so drugged-up, that maybe things would be alright, for the most part. “Ed?” he said quietly, fingers brushing the edge of the bedsheet. “It’s me, Oswald,” he stated dumbly, clearing his throat. “How are you feeling?”

  
Ed’s glazed eyes were fixed on a fly on the back wall, but he slowly registered Oswald’s voice. His head leisurely swiveled around, and it took him a few moments to realize who he was talking to. He gasped. “OSWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAALD!”

  
Lee’s hands flew over her ears. 

Oswald jumped at Ed’s reaction, eyes wide in surprise. He couldn’t tell if Ed’s screaming of his name was a good reaction or a bad one. Was Ed pleased to see him, or was he outraged? “Um, yes, Ed, it’s me…”

  
“OSWALD!” Ed grabbed the sides of Oswald’s face, luring him in closer. “I’M SO GLAD IT’S YOU!”

  
Oswald gasped, taken aback by his and Ed’s sudden proximity as his cheeks began to warm under Ed’s touch. This was… certainly strange. It certainly didn’t seem like his presence was unwelcome in any way, but it didn’t make the situation any less confusing to him. Ed should still be furious with him, right? “I’m, um, glad to see you as well, Ed,” he said with a nervous smile, unsure of what to really do with himself.

  
“I-” Ed licked his lips. “I AM FEELING...SO…” he looked around. “I FEEL LIKE I WAS BROUGHT BACK FROM THE DEAD!”

  
Lee almost choked.

  
"Well, um, you’ve certainly… been through a lot these past few hours, it seems.” He peered back over to Lee as if to ask for help, but thought better of it. There probably wasn’t much she could do. Oswald knew it was just the morphine making him act in such a way, but it didn’t make things any less tense or strange. Ed had never acted in such a manner before, and all the touches and positive words were making him feel slightly light-headed himself.

  
Ed nodded, his head tilting slightly to the side. He just stared at Oswald as if he were reading a very interesting book, which made him even more uncomfortable. All of a sudden Ed’s eyes lit up. “The more you cut me, the bigger I grow. What am I?”

  
Oswald sighed, the riddle both comforting him and slightly agitating him. At least the man spouting off riddles was more like him than just about anything else he had done so far. “I don’t know, Ed,” he said, not even really wanting to bother to try and figure out such a thing. He wasn’t always the best with Ed’s riddles anyway.

  
“A PIECE OF BREAD!” Ed’s scintillating smile faltered. “Wait...that’s not right is it.”

  
Oswald frowned, straightening up more. Now Ed getting his own riddles wrong was definitely not him. What was going on here? Was this really all just pain medication making Ed behave in such a way, or was there more to the story? The thought of Lee keeping something from him angered him. “What’s wrong with him?” he asked her, back to snapping, taking a step back from Ed. “It’s like he’s not… him!” he said, gesturing wildly at Ed.

  
The sound of Lee’s blood roaring in her ears made her take a few seconds to respond. “Ed...like I said, he’s on a lot of pain medication right now, but...I mean, it’s too early to tell; but judging from the looks of things, Ed also has some memory loss.”

  
“Memory….” Oswald’s eyes went wide, limping quickly over to Lee. “What do you mean _memory loss_? When were you planning on telling me this?!” he asked, only giving her a split second before shouting once again. “ANSWER ME!”

  
Lee wiped a drop of Oswald’s spit out of her eyes. She suddenly knew that withholding the information regarding Ed’s mental state was a very, very bad move. “I’m sorry Oswald, I just didn’t know if you could handle it right away with the condition that he’s in.”

  
“And you thought NOT telling me would be BETTER?!” Oswald challenged her, seething. “This is RIDICULOUS!” he exclaimed. She was right, of course - it was hard to stomach, but he had had the right to know about Ed’s condition. “Is there no way of fixing it?” he asked, trying to keep himself together for Ed’s sake.

“SO HERE’S A STORY FROM A TO Z, YOU WANNA GET WITH ME YOU BETTA LISTEN CAREFULLY-” Ed’s head snapped dangerously back and forth, impersonating the different Spice Girls in the wake of his amnesia. “WE GOT ED- I MEAN EM IN THE PLACE WHO LIKES IT IN YOUR FACE-”

  
“No ED STOP!” Lee shoved Oswald aside and practically soared across the room to Ed, seizing his shoulders and snapping him out of movement. “YOU JUST HAD BRAIN SURGERY! _DO NOT SWING YOUR HEAD AROUND_!”

  
Oswald quickly went to Ed’s other side, putting his conversation with Lee on hold, for the time being. Ed’s safety was what was really important right now. “Ed, what is the last thing you remember?” he tried, speaking softly yet again before he held his breath, readying himself for Ed’s response.

  
“Slam your body down and WIND IT ALL AROUND!- oh? The last thing I remember?” Ed’s eyebrows knit in an intense, forced concentration. “Huh...I believe it was…”he clapped his hands. “OH! You were elected Mayor, and I was your Chief of Staff, and Isabella and I started dating!” He laughed again, this time with a bit more of his old warmth. “Where, where is she?” He turned to Lee.

  
Oswald felt his chest twist with the mention of Isabella, glancing at Lee as he tried to figure out what to say. He knew he could just tell the truth, but then what? Ed had no one else to care for him, no one else to turn to in a time like this. If Oswald told him the truth, it would only drive Ed away again, and he wasn’t sure if he could relive such a pain. However, he also couldn’t lie and tell him that Isabella was still alive - he’d start asking about her and wanting to see her. Unless….

  
“Ed, you and Isabella ended things. You both agreed it would be for the best,” he answered, deciding to go with a lie for the time being, pretending to be sympathetic.

  
For a second Lee thought about intervening and exposing Oswald’s lie when she saw the absolute heartbreak in Ed’s face, but knew that it wasn’t her place- and she also didn’t want to admit Oswald to the ER anytime soon. She held her tongue for now, although it killed her to see Ed go from such a high to such a low in an incredibly short amount of time.

  
“We...we did?” Ed dropped his gaze, fidgeting with his hands on the bed sheets.

  
“Yes,” said Oswald, not expecting to feel such sadness as he looked at Ed. Already, it felt like reliving a bit of the past. “But you were able to move past her,” he added, hopeful. He hated to see Ed so heartbroken again and to know that it was still his own fault. However, as sick as it was, maybe this was his shot at a second chance?

Ed sniffled. “I...I don’t really remember that. Actually, I don’t really remember anything....” he faced Lee once more. “What exactly happened to me?”

  
Lee felt her legs turn to jelly. “Well Ed...you were in an accident, we don’t know what happened yet but we’re working it out, and it appears that you have some memory loss. For how long back, I think you just said so.”

  
Ed blinked. “Wait…” His heart monitor started to speed up expeditiously. “You mean...I, I have memory loss?” 

“Yes, Ed. That is what I just said.”

  
Ed’s chest started to heave up and down spasmodically. He began to hyperventilate. “No...no..NO, I, I’m the smartest man in Gotham, I always remember things, my mind is my greatest weapon, I can’t LOSE, MY MEMORY-”   
The heart rate monitor screeched.

  
“Ed!” Oswald gasped, grabbing one of the man’s hands. He could feel his own heart racing within his chest at Ed’s panic. “Ed, it’s alright! We- we’ll get your memories back,” he said, catching Lee’s eye. “I- I promise,” he told him, trying his best to calm the other man down. “You’re still the smartest man in Gotham.” He tried to smile, it not quite reaching his eyes. “That much hasn’t changed.”

  
Ed’s eyes lulled into the back of his head.

  
“He’s going into cardiac arrest. DAMMIT! MOVE!” Lee bellowed at Oswald; shoving past him once again to the front sliding doors. “I NEED A CRASH CART RIGHT NOW!”

  
A stream of nurses came in and brought the crash cart; Lee having no regard for Oswald’s panic amidst all that had just happened. She caught an orderly. “You- get him out of here. NOW. He CANNOT be in the same room as this patient right now!”

  
“NO!” Oswald shouted, quickly grabbing Lee by the shoulders. “I am NOT leaving him!” he decided, eyes burning into Lee’s skull. “I will NOT lose him!” he continued, finding it harder to talk as he became overwhelmed with emotion. So much was happening, and now Ed was- he was- “I’m staying with him,” he told her, starting to shake.

  
“SORRY, NOT GONNA HAPPEN. GOODBYE!” Lee firmly forced the Penguin and awkward orderly out of the room, pulling the tweed curtains over the doors so that no one in the hallway could see what was going on.

  
“LEE!” Oswald shouted, being forcefully escorted away from Ed and Doctor Thompkins. “GET YOUR HANDS OFF ME!” he roared at the nurse, shaking her off of him and glaring at her. The fact that Lee would try and keep him away from Ed was maddening, but, unfortunately, he knew he’d only make things worse if he kept fighting. If Ed was going into cardiac arrest, then he’d need all the immediate help possible.

  
However, that didn’t mean he had to stand by and do nothing. There was still the cretin that hit Ed in the first place running around, free. Of course, the GCPD had produced nothing, but Oswald knew that it was unlikely that Jim had been called to investigate the case. If there was anyone that could actually do anything over there, it was Jim Gordon, and Oswald always knew just how to string him along in his plans.


	5. Captain Crunch's debut

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 5 of Gotham: Secret of the Labyrinth 
> 
> PLEASE READ NOTES FOR DISCLAIMER

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY OKAY SO- if you guys have read this far, you'll already know that one of the genres of this collab is comedy. At the very beginning of when Zella and I started working together, we were discussing who should be the Captain of the GCPD since Barnes was thrown in Arkham and such. I didn't want Jim to be Captain (yet) because that would give him too much power at the start, and so as a joke, I suggested Captain Crunch of the GCPD- and boom. He made it in. His titles are as follows: 
> 
> Captain Crunch, valiant Captain of the GCPD and sworn defender of truth and hearty breakfasts. 
> 
> GOTHAM SHOULD FEAR HIM 
> 
> See end notes for who plays who.

“Socks? Really? That’s the most interesting case we could come up with? People reporting their missing pairs of socks?” Jim scoffed. He leaned against the filing cabinets and bolted shelves of the Archives, being highly disappointed in what he and Harvey had recovered. He thought for sure that with the snow day and confinement to the precinct, there would be lots of opportunity to crack old mysteries that were still in need of justice, but lo and behold, there was nothing.

  
“Well, it’s either that or going after that kid who set up a lemonade stand without a permit last week,” Harvey shrugged, tossing that case file aside. “I don’t know about you though, but I would like to find out what’s been happening to my left socks. It’s always the damn left sock,” he sighed, taking one last sip from his flask before screwing it shut.

Jim rolled his eyes. “Well still, we shouldn’t give up. I’m sure there’s something around here, somewhere…” he trailed off and started to migrate over to the murder section.

  
“What about that one with the dentist that murdered his great-aunt while sleepwalking?” Harvey suggested, hoping that they found anything better than the sock case. If he was going to work on a snow day, then it needed to be something that got his blood pumping.

  
“Huh? Who?” Jim turned around. “What dentist-”

  
Jim sprung up four feet into the air as the door to the Archives flew open, the fearless Captain Crunch striding in.

  
“Jim Gordon, you have a message.”

  
“I, I do?”

  
Captain Crunch nodded, his bushy mustache flopping up and down. “It is from the Penguin. Report to your desk immediately.”

Jim felt like he had just stepped on a Lego. “The Penguin. Great. I’ll be right there Captain.”]

  
Captain Crunch saluted him and Harvey and then gracefully exited the room.

As soon as he left, Jim and Harvey locked eyes. “Well,” Jim sighed. “I bet it’s more exciting than socks or murderous dentists.”

* * *

 

Oswald tapped his foot impatiently as he waited for Jim and Bullock’s arrival at the hospital. Luckily for him, Lee had allowed them to use the locker room to talk. He figured it would be best to not discuss things such as Ed’s case with Ed still in the room, as much as it bothered him to leave him. Perhaps he’d call one of his men to look over Ed in his absence and give him any updates.  
The door to the locker room swung open, and Oswald stood up straight, brushing off his already crisp and clean suit. “Jim! Finally,” he greeted the man, ignoring his witless companion for the time being.

  
“Nice to see you too, Penguin,” Harvey mumbled under his breath.

  
Jim ignored Oswald’s hand shake. “What is it?” He asked, already fed up with whatever drama the Penguin had to share

.   
Oswald’s toothy grin faltered for a moment after realizing Jim wasn’t going to accept his outstretched hand, but lowered it nonetheless. “Well Jim, it seems like your men at the GCPD have reached their limits,” he began to explain. “Ed was found hours ago lying in the snow after a supposed hit-and-run, recovered by none other than Bruce Wayne himself. From what I’ve heard, the GCPD have uncovered absolutely nothing. Ed is in a… critical state, and I expect to see some results regarding his case!” he told the men, being vague about Ed’s condition for his own sake.

  
“-Woah woah wait, slow down-” With the snail-like tempo at the GCPD, it was taking Jim a little bit longer to process things than usual. “Ed was in a hit-and-run?”

 

Oswald rolled his eyes, already growing frustrated with the two men before him. “Yes, Jim, that is what I said,” he reiterated.

  
Harvey laughed, unable to help himself. “You’re telling us Nygma got pummeled by a car? Are those glasses of his even prescription?”

  
Oswald clenched his fists tightly, the leather of his gloves straining from the force. He ground his teeth together, staring daggers at Jim’s partner. “This is a serious matter, Bullock!” he growled. “I would THINK that you could hold that infernal tongue of yours for one minute and be professional for once!”

  
And here we go again...Jim exhaled for twelve seconds. “Alright calm down Oswald, we get it. Nygma was roadkill-”

  
Harvey snickered.   
“-and you’re upset about it. My condolences.” Although Ed Nygma potentially being murdered was a terrible event, Jim honestly couldn’t care less at this point. He had seen Gotham go through havoc and hellfire because of the Riddler’s schemes; and if he was going to be off his feet for a while, then good riddance.

  
Oswald couldn’t believe the sheer incompetence he was witnessing. He was giving them a hit-and-run case that involved the city’s former Chief of Staff and all the men could do was crack jokes and chuckle?! He was their mayor once! He was the King of Gotham! They shouldn’t be laughing at his request for them to do their jobs! “Forget this!” Oswald said in a huff, throwing up his hands and beginning to exit the locker room. “I should have known better than to put my trust in the GCPD! I’ll figure this out myself!”

  
Although Oswald had a flair for being inconceivably dramatic, Jim could tell that this was something different. He glanced over at Harvey, wanting to confirm that he thought the same thing.   
Harvey sighed. “It beats finding socks,” he said to Jim, quietly. Although he took absolutely no pleasure in helping Nygma and Penguin, of all people, he knew they’d never hear the end of it if they just walked away. “Also sounds like a free ticket to booking Nygma.”

  
Jim let his guard down and accepted that this was going to be another case of imminent chaos. “Well.” He weakly threw his hands up in defense. “What can we do for you Oswald.”

  
“Thank you, Jim,” said Oswald, turning back around and away from the door to face the detectives. As infuriating as it was to be working with people who obviously have no regard for Ed’s well-being, Oswald wasn’t sure he could do much better on his own. His men weren’t exactly Harvard graduates. “You can start by finding out where this incident took place. Perhaps the Wayne boy knows more, seeing as he was the one who found Ed. As I recall, you two are particularly close?”

  
“...if you want to put it that way.”

  
“Excellent,” said Oswald, pulling his scarf more firmly around himself, preparing to head back out into the winter storm. “Then that is where we’ll start, unless you have any objections, to which I’d be more than happy to continue to tell you how to do your job,” he said smugly.

  
Jim found himself a little exasperated at that last comment. Oswald should be mature and know that this wasn’t something that he would agree to lightly; taking this case was a big favor. He sighed again. “Harvey and I will go pay Bruce Wayne a visit. Today.”

  
Oswald nodded, pleased with Jim’s response. “And I will be joining you,” he decided, buttoning up his coat. “I want to make sure that Ed’s case is being handled seriously,” he explained, shooting Harvey a dirty look.

“Fine, fine, whatever!” Harvey said, throwing up his hands in defeat. “As long as it gets us movin’. This place smells like latex and mashed potatoes…”

  
Jim tapped the sides of his pants, his brain already circuiting around his mental files on every criminal in Gotham. _Who would want Edward Nygma dead?._..“Alright whatever; you can come with us AS LONG AS YOU DON’T INTERFERE!” Jim hectored. “Come on, the car’s right outside.”

  
Oswald held a hand up to his chest, mocking offense. “Jim, I’m offended that you’d think so little of me,” he teased, opening the door to the locker room and motioning forward. “Please, lead the way,” he insisted with a smirk

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> JIM GORDON- Emmaline   
> CAPTAIN CRUNCH- Emmaline   
> OSWALD COBBLEPOT- Zella   
> HARVEY BULLOCK- Zella


	6. PB & J (with a side of AH)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 6 of Gotham: Secret of the Labyrinth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is an acronym for the characters in this scene-   
> P- Penguin   
> B- Bruce   
> J- Jim 
> 
> A- Alfred   
> H- Harvey 
> 
> ;) 
> 
> Read the end notes for who plays who.

Bruce knew that he shouldn’t be worried about her, but based on how Gotham City was taking its first ever snow storm in seven years, he found himself thinking of homeless orphan Selina Kyle, and where she might that night be to keep herself warm and safe. Bruce was so tempted to check up on her that he almost asked Alfred to go out again and help him look for her, but ultimately decided not to. Nothing ever good happened when he sought out Selina for no real reason.

  
Bruce brushed his teeth and was about to hop into bed when a knock came at the door. “Come in, Alfred.”

  
“Master Wayne?” Alfred called out as he entered the master bathroom. “Detectives Gordon and Bullock are here to see you, sir. The Penguin as well,” he said, shifting a bit uncomfortably at that last statement. Although he hadn’t had many encounters with the infamous Penguin, Alfred knew that wherever he went, trouble would more than likely soon to follow.

  
Bruce’s forehead creased. “The Penguin...is it about earlier, from Edward Nygma at the hospital? I know we brought him in, but he can’t possibly believe that it was us who did that to him, right?”

  
“It does seem very unlikely, sir,” Alfred agreed. “But it’s best not to keep our guests waiting. They’re down in the parlor.”

  
As much as he wanted to reject these unwelcome visitors, Bruce knew that it would be far more easy to just go downstairs and clear the air rather than send them away. He nodded slowly. “Okay. But this will be quick.” He then followed Alfred out of the master bedroom and through the mahogany halls, every footstep heavy.

* * *

Jim slapped Oswald’s wrist. “What did I say about touching shiny objects!”

  
Oswald jumped slightly at the sudden contact, dropping the paperweight he had been observing back onto the table. “I think that was rather uncalled for!” he snapped back at Jim, briefly rubbing his wrist.

Harvey rolled his eyes next to Jim, thinking about how he thought he was supposed to be the one struggling with being professional. “Would you two keep it together for two seconds?”

  
“If I were any other cop in the GCPD, you wouldn’t even be allowed to be here right now Oswald.” Jim scorned him. “If Harvey or I catch you touching anything else, then-”

  
“Good evening Jim. Good evening Harvey.” Bruce entered the room as if he were invisible. He then gave a stout nod to Oswald. “Penguin.”

  
“Evenin’ kid,” greeted Harvey, Alfred entering the parlor not too far behind the boy, hands clasped behind his back. “Did we catch ya at a bad time?” he asked, noting the pair of rich, Cambodian silk garments Bruce was wearing. They were as blue as the ocean, and mimicked it as well- as Bruce walked across the room, his clothes rippled and flowed loosely around his body, and the way that the glow of the fireplace casted onto his garments gave them a livid sheen. Rich people had everything, huh?

  
Bruce shook his head. “No, you’re fine.” He paused. “Although I guess there’s never a particularly good time to interrogate someone.”

  
“Fair point, but you know-”

  
“Dr Thompkins said that that you were the ones to bring Ed to the hospital this morning,” Oswald interrupted Harvey, tired of wasting time with small talk. “We were wondering if you could possibly enclose more details about the incident, if it’s not too much to ask,” he said with a toothy smile, trying to stay as polite as possible in hopes to speed things up. The sooner they discovered who hurt Ed, the sooner Oswald could kill them and return to Ed’s side.

  
Bruce just stared at Oswald emotionlessly, silently willing him to go away. “I guess. But there’s not much information we have, Mister Penguin.”

  
“Please, call me Oswald,” he insisted. He hadn’t been called ‘Mister Penguin’ in quite some time.

  
“I’m afraid Master Wayne is right, sirs,” Alfred stepped in. “We were only informed of Mr Nygma’s condition after Jeremiah Val-”

  
“JEREMIAH VALESKA?” Oswald squawked. “WHAT WOULD THAT PSYCHOPATH WANT WITH ED?”

  
Jim grimaced, cowering slightly at Oswald’s abrupt uproar. But of course, with Ed Nygma’s life involved, there were going to be many more of those outbursts coming his way.

  
Bruce sat down on the couch, clasping his hands together. “I don’t know, but I was having a normal day until he called me on the phone and left a message saying that, ‘he had a package for me on the corner of Fifth-Avenue and Horton Street’. That’s all we know so far.”

  
Oswald spun around to Jim, a gleam in his eye as he checked the inside of his suit to see if his gun was still on him. “Well Jim, it sounds like we have a culprit and a location,” he mused, feeling the outline of this pistol through his bespoke suit. Once they found Jeremiah Valeska, he’d be sure to make him pay for what he had done to Ed.

  
Jim stuck out his hand to calm down Oswald but it clicked in his mind that he may be right. Even though the action sounded a little off, Jeremiah Valeska was more than capable of bulldozing the Riddler. “Harvey?” He turned to his companion.

  
Harvey shrugged. “The man is nuttier than a fruitcake,” he reflected. Although he couldn’t pinpoint an exact motive for Jeremiah Valeska to mow down the Riddler, he couldn’t argue with the assumption either.

  
Jim sighed for the ninetieth time that day. “Well...Jeremiah Valeska it is. Fifth-Avenue and Horton Street you said?”

  
Bruce nodded again.

  
“Kay. I’ll put it on the map. With the monstrosity of snow outside though, I doubt we'll find any evidence. We can still check though. Harvey, Oswald, let’s go.” Jim shook Bruce and Alfred’s hands as he walked out the door.

“Thank you for your time.” He then lowered his voice. “Sorry that he had to come.” He cocked his head towards Oswald.

  
“You know I can hear you, right?” asked Oswald with a sigh. Honestly, he thought he had been pretty well behaved, all things considered.

  
“Perhaps we could have you over for tea sometime, sir?” Alfred suggested to Jim with a smile. “Some present company excluded, of course,” he added, ignoring Penguin’s previous comment.

  
Jim shook his head politely. “No thanks; I already have a lot on my plate as always, but thanks for the offer. I’m sure your tea is lovely.” He gave Alfred a lipped but sincere smile and then exited the room, striding down the halls towards the front door.

  
“See ya, kid,” said Harvey, following after Jim and skipping the handshake.

  
Oswald rolled his eyes as Jim and Harvey left the parlor, limping over to Bruce and extending a hand. “Thank you for your assistance, Mr Wayne. Perhaps we’ll meet again in the future.”

  
“I’m sure we will,” Bruce replied, a bit icily. He shook his hand stiffly and then stood up, dusting nonexistent lint off his pajamas.

  
“The door is right this way, sir,” said Alfred, motioning in the direction Jim and Harvey had just went, eager to bid farewell to their unwanted guest so they could wrap up their evening.

  
“I’m leaving,” Oswald assured the butler, finding it more than obvious that his presence was unwelcome for both parties he had been stuck with this evening. He gave one last nod to Bruce, being a gentleman first and foremost before taking his own leave, treading out into the snow and preparing for yet another car ride with Jim and his talking baboon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> JIM- Emmaline   
> BRUCE- Emmaline   
> OSWALD- Zella   
> ALFRED- Zella   
> HARVEY- Zella


	7. The Pickler

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 7 of Gotham: Secret of the Labyrinth 
> 
> Again, I am so sorry guys for not being able to upload at regular, scheduled times. I will update more frequently this week to make up for it. Zella and I have both been busy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a couple things to say- 
> 
> HAPPY ASTROLOGICAL NEW YEAR!!! EMMALINE IS ECSTATIC ABOUT THE SPRING AND CANNOT WAIT FOR THE NEW SEASONS AND SOLAR RETURN! (On March 21 ;) ). Emmaline is a proficient astrologer who has been studying the subject for three years now. She studies under Adam Elenbaas as well as reads texts from Hellenistic beliefs and other astrologers. Can you guess her signs? (Sun, moon, rising. Hint- one is already on this server). 
> 
> Read end notes for cast list.

Oswald staggered into Gotham General for what felt like the hundredth time that week, a bouquet of green larkspurs in his hands that were neatly tied with a sparkly, emerald green bow - Ed’s favorite color, of course.  
By now, the nurses knew the routine when he entered. Some would turn the other way the second they spotted him, more than familiar with his temper by now, but the ones that were brave enough to stay would always give him a brief update on Ed’s condition and where Lee was.

  
Today, Lee was apparently in Ed’s room, getting him ready for his dispatch the next day. Oswald had already briefed his men and Olga on Ed’s condition and a little of what he knew to expect. His old room had been made up for him again, and Olga was to check on Ed upstairs as often as possible when he was gone. There would not be any slip ups. If anything happened to Ed when he wasn’t there and he wasn’t made aware of it, there would be hell to pay.

  
“Good afternoon, Dr. Thompkins,” Oswald greeted Lee once he entered Ed’s room. “Hello again, Ed. I brought you some flowers,” he announced with a smile, holding up the rather extravagant bouquet that would probably be too flashy and green for the ordinary eye, but Ed was anything but ordinary. To him, Ed was extraordinary.

  
“NO! GOD, NO!” Ed cursed and balled up his fists, striking them down on his crumpled up bed sheets. “WHY? HE SHOULD’VE CHOSEN COURTNIE! SHE’S WAY MORE EXCITING THAN JESSICA! SHE PUNCHED A CHEERLEADER IN THE FACE! _WITH A TORTILLA_!”

  
Lee greeted Oswald, and then gestured to the TV. “Lately he’s been obsessed with the Bachelor.”

  
Oswald rolled his eyes, setting the flowers on Ed’s bedside table next to the others that he had brought previous days. They were starting to take over the room, it seemed. Ivy would have been pleased. “Well, then it sounds like I’ll have to have a television moved to his room in the mansion. How has he been?”

Lee’s chest rose and fell with her tired breathing, clearly fatigued. The bags under her eyes were so big that they could be Gucci, and even her hair was a bit staticy. She hadn’t expected to worry and fret about Ed so much, but because she knew him personally, she had insisted that his case be hers and hers only, and it was slowly driving her mad. “Well...he’s good enough to go home, at least. His recovery will take longer than most people’s, but then again we don’t know what exactly caused this, so depending on what kind of vehicle he was hit with, or even if we was hit by a vehicle at all, then his recovery could be normal.” She wanted to say, ‘crazies in Gotham will do anything to hurt anyone; this could’ve been pure torture,’ but didn’t dare in front of Oswald.

  
“Well, that’s good, I suppose.” Oswald sighed, stepping closer to Ed and sitting on the edge of his bed like he normally would. “And is there anything I should do about the memories?” he asked Lee quietly. Preferably, he’d like to say nothing to Ed about the past, but he knew the man was bound to be curious and possibly start asking questions. “Will they return over time, or…?”

  
Lee shook her head grimly. “Unfortunately, no. But if there’s anyone in Gotham who could come back from such a fatal event as this and get their mind back, it would be Ed. He…” she trailed off, her face blushing a crimson red. She cursed herself for saying that out loud; doctors were never supposed to set up high hopes for any injury ever, and considering Oswald’s...complicated relationship with Ed, she knew that any word she said would be taken to heart. “He sure is tough, to make it this far.” She tried to cover up.

  
“Yes, he certainly is that,” Oswald agreed with a twitch of his lips, glancing over at Ed who still seemed to be engrossed with the television. Oswald felt a sense of dread take root within him at Lee’s words. He wanted Ed to recover, of course, but this was like a second chance to him. Things had gone so terribly before, but now Ed couldn’t even remember. He could do things over this time, but if there was a possibility of Ed regaining his memories on his own, well… that would complicate things. He didn’t want to have to lose Ed again.

  
The TV cut to a commercial break, Ed now losing interest in the object and turning over to Oswald. An impish grin immediately spread on his face, and he cupped his hands around his mouth as if to yell at Oswald from the other side of the room, even though he was only inches away. “PSSST! Oswald!”

  
Oswald looked down at Ed at the call of his name, putting on another smile. “Yes, Ed?” he asked, leaning a little closer.

  
“Come here! I have to tell you something!” He wiggled his fingers flirtatiously. 

Oswald cleared his throat, scooting closer to the other man and leaning forward again. He was much closer than he was before, and the air suddenly felt a bit more thin. “Yes, Ed?” he repeated.

  
Ed swayed his head over, getting more intimate with Oswald. His soft neck caressed Oswald’s taut skin, and he pressed his lips up to secret lover’s ear and began to whisper. “I feel your every move, I know your every thought. I'm with you from birth and I'll see you when you rot. What am I?” His voice was gravelly and seductive, yet it was still blatantly obvious that he was high.

  
From a distance, Lee felt her cheeks flush, and the beat of her heart thudded like a boombox in her chest. She suddenly felt very uncomfortable.

  
Oswald sucked in a breath, his face feeling warm under Ed’s scrutiny and attention. He could actually feel his words against his skin, and it was enough to drive him a bit mad. Ed had never behaved in such a way before, and he knew it was just the drugs, but he couldn’t help but get a little hopeful and frazzled by Ed’s actions. Quickly, he tried to focus on Ed’s riddle, his mind unable to function properly with Ed so close, whispering splendidly into his ear. “I- I’m afraid I don’t know, Ed,” he replied, giving up on trying to find a suitable answer.

“SANTA CLAUSE!!!” Ed bellowed in Oswald’s ear, his voice louder than a fire engine. He shot his arms up in the air, doing jazz hands. “I THINK THAT MAY BE MY BEST RIDDLE YET!!”

  
Oswald lept from Ed’s bed, covering the ear Ed had just shouted in, hearing a faint ringing. “JESUS, ED!” he exclaimed, turing back to the man. “ARE YOU TRYING TO GIVE ME A HEART ATTACK?” he asked, his heart still pounding rapidly in his chest. And to think he had been so foolish to think that Ed was actually going to be sensible. Damn drugs.

  
The cheesy smile was still plastered on Ed’s face, and he just giggled a little, slapping his knee. “Santa Clause. Classic.” His smile faltered a bit. “Wait...Kris, Kris Kringle...Kristen- OH HEY YOU BROUGHT ME FLOWERS! THANKS!” He abruptly switched topics and snatched the larkspurs off of the end table.

  
Even though he was still rather shaken, Oswald let out a sigh of relief. The mention of Kristen Kringle had worried him briefly. The last thing he wished to discuss was one of Ed’s previous lovers. “You’re welcome,” he said quietly, staring at the flowers. “They’re larkspurs. I thought you’d appreciate the green,” he admitted, attempting to have a normal conversation with Ed. It was unfortunate that the morphine seemed to keep them from having such a simple pleasure.

  
Ed nodded vigorously, burying his nose in the larkspurs and sniffing them like a hound. He perked his head up after a moment, studying them fastiduosly. “Hey...didn’t I, wasn’t I trying to be some bad guy? Like a criminal before? And,-” his eyes started to shine with the fragment of his memory. “And I wore green?” He tapped his chin. “Now let’s see, what was I...the Pickler?”

  
Oswald felt uneasy. Even though Lee had said his memories returning seemed unlikely, Ed was already seemingly picking up on certain details. This… didn’t bode well for him at all. Still, he hadn’t necessarily remembered anything bad. Ed had been trying to be more of a criminal for quite some time, after all.

  
“You’ve always been quite partial to green,” Oswald reminded him, recalling his green sweater that he used to wear. “As for this… Pickler,” he began, fighting the urge to roll his eyes at such a ridiculous name, “I can’t recall you ever being called that.” It wasn’t a lie, but he also wasn’t helping Ed remember the truth, either.

Ed’s tongue traced his lips, deep in thought. “Huh. I could’ve sworn that I was called that.” He started to mentally transcend into a place of elevated highness that only the hospital morphine could provide.

  
Oswald turned away from Ed again, trying not to dwell on Ed’s recovery of certain memories or how unfair it was that, even in his condition, he had to look so good, especially with that tongue of his. “Is there anything in particular that I need to be wary of while he’s recovering?” he asked Lee, leaving Ed to his drug-induced high for now.

  
Lee nodded emphatically, grateful to focus on something else instead of whatever the hell Ed and Oswald were about to do. She cleared her throat, slipping a stapled packet of paper out from her medical binder and handing it over to Oswald. “This covers all of his injuries, what kind of surgeries or medical procedures he had to go through, and information about his recovery. I’ll go over it in a minute, but I also suggest that you take him to this-” she removed a business card from her pocket. It was for the hospital’s therapy center.

  
Oswald stared down at the card Lee handed him, blinking. “Therapy?” he read aloud. Now this could also prove to be an issue. “Would this be to help his physical recovery or his mental?” he asked, curious. If someone was going to try to help Ed sort out his memories and he couldn’t be there, that could most certainly be a problem for him.

  
“Gotham General’s therapy center offers a wide range of support, including trauma therapy that can be specifically for patients dealing with memory loss and other accidents. I believe it would be best for Ed, mentally and emotionally, if he were to attend once a week and seek out support from people who have had to deal with the same situation as him, but if that’s too much right now, then I understand. I just believe that after all he’s been through-”, Lee almost brought up Arkham but quickly thought better of it, “-this group would be highly beneficial.” She smiled congenially. “Just something to think about.”

  
“I see…” said Oswald, considering Lee’s words as he tucked he card into his suit pocket. She was more than likely correct about this group helping out Ed, but, at the same time, if they were to help too much, then things could end up the way they were before. Perhaps he would mull the possibilities over longer before completely writing it off. But, as is stood right now, Oswald planned on withholding this information about therapy to Ed.  
“I appreciate all you have done for Ed, Dr. Thompkins,” Oswald said sincerely, offering her a slight grin. “If it wasn’t for your help, I’m not sure how either one of us would have survived this mess.” While he didn’t exactly like Lee, he didn’t particularly mind her either. She was clever and resourceful, and that was more than he could say for the other doctors that lingered around in Gotham General.

  
“Well I’m glad that Ed was found and brought in, and not left on the street in this horrific blizzard.” Lee picked up a ballpoint pen from the table and used it as a pointer to go over the treatment plan for Ed. “Like I said before, he received multiple injuries that all need their own attention, however, most of them have minor recovery plans and can be fixed up more easily. For example, Ed’s collapsed lungs can be taken care of with an oxygen concentrator-” Lee gesticulated out to the trash-can sized machine next to his bed that looked like something from a futuristic robot movie, “-that works along with his chest tube that was installed in surgery. But that will be taken out later today, so you won’t have to worry about that. Ed just needs thirty-eight decibels of oxygen for eight-to-ten hours a day, so typically most patients use it during the night. Instructions for how the transferrable, at-home machine works are included in this packet.” Lee turned the page.

  
“Ed also had his spleen removed, which is an organ that lies under your ribcage. The spleen plays a key part in both the immune and lymphatic systems. It filters the blood as well as stores red blood cells and platelets, and helps cleanse the body of excess or old cells. It helps regulate the immune system’s response-”

  
“I know what a spleen is, Dr. Thompkins,” Oswald interrupted, trying to be a gentleman, but also growing tired of her explanations.

  
“Mhm I bet you do.” Lee replied, a bit sarcastic. “As far as recovery goes, anyone can live without it, but the rate of infection for them is exceedingly high. So Ed will need to be immunized with all of the vaccinations that are on this list, best by next week.”

  
“Is that all?” Oswald asked with a sigh, taking in all of this new information and rules for Ed.

Even though Lee had gone through her fair share of ups and downs with Ed, hell she smacked across the face once, it pained her to say the last part. Especially to Oswald, who she noticed was far more compulsive and nitpicky than usual- the flowers had been a warming gesture, to say the least, but judging by the way that he had been such a pompous diva to the nurses, she knew there was romance involved. “Ed will need to keep his cast on, and is going to have to move places via a wheelchair. He’ll need it for approximately three to six months, and the instructions for that are in the packet as well.”

  
“Six months?” Oswald repeated, pinching the bridge of his beaked nose due to frustration. He knew the recovery would be slow, but he hadn’t realized just how much Ed was going to have to do, and six months was a long time to be mostly secluded. He’d have to try and clear days in his schedule to get Ed out of this house. “Fine,” he sighed yet again. “Thank you,” he added, peering over at Ed again. “Is that it, then?”

  
“Yes, that’s it for now.” Lee observed Ed, who was now braiding the tips of the larkspurs together in a very obscure pattern. She wondered what he would be like once he got off the morphine, and resumed back to his regular lifestyle. Anyone person with their head twisted on right in Gotham would know how theatrical and exuberant the Riddler loved to be, but after practically experiencing Ed’s trauma first hand, Lee knew that there was no going back to before. And truth be told, that was probably the most terrifying aspect about the accident.

  
Oswald nodded, heading back over to Ed’s side, smiling fondly at him as he observed his intertwining of the flowers he had given him. “Ed? I’m going to take you home tomorrow, okay? It sounds like you’ll have to remain upstairs most of the time… but we’ll make it work. I’ll be at your beck and call,” he assured him, practically beaming with the thought of having Ed under his roof again.

  
Ed didn’t have a care in the world for what Oswald was saying. He was still caught up with himself. “The...Ripper? No, no. What I would rip? Clothes? Epic guitar tunes?...AH WAIT- I KNOW EXACTLY WHO I WAS!” He jarringly yanked Oswald’s coat collar, reeling in his face once more. “I WAS THE RIFFER! SEE! LISTEN TO THIS!” He cleared his throat. “ooooAHHHHoAhOaOSH OOOH-” he did his best Christina Aguilera impression, which was more of like a cross between a yodel and a ten-year-old screaming on a rollercoaster.

  
Oswald quickly covered Ed’s mouth his his hand, closing his eyes. He was beginning to wonder whether he prefered this Ed over the Riddler or not. Getting shot in the chest almost seemed pleasant compared to all the yelling and screaming. Of course, he knew that wasn’t actually true.

  
“Ed, Ed, please,” he begged softly. “Just, don’t worry about any of that right now,” he suggested. “I can help you sort out your memories once we’re back at home, alright?” He lifted his hand away from Ed’s lips.  


  
Ed crossed his eyes as he watched his spit drip off of Oswald’s hand like a strand of a spiderweb. It stretched out as he backed away, and caught on the IV stand where it trickled down the cylindrical metal. Ed knit his eyebrows. “ _Fascinating_.”

  
“That’s one way to look at it,” said Oswald, scrunching his nose in disgust as he wiped Ed’s saliva off his hand with his handkerchief.

  
Lee clicked her heels against the ground. “Right. Ed is going to be off to get his chest tube removed in an hour, so we’ll update you when he’s out of surgery. Thanks for stopping by, Oswald.” She walked up to the sliding doors, giving Oswald the signal to leave without being rude.

  
“Yes, of course. Thank you, Dr. Thompkins,” said Oswald as he quickly buttoned up his coat, preparing to call his driver and enter the cold once more. “Goodbye, Ed. I’ll pick you up tomorrow,” he promised him, following Lee to the sliding glass doors, offering her one last nod before heading back to the waiting room.

While his visits with Ed these past few days had been quite... entertaining, he was interested to see how Ed would behave once he was off all the morphine. He missed having his old friend around. He missed having an equal to talk to about the simplest of things and the most challenging of things. Really, he just missed Ed being Ed, and he was more than relieved to have him back in his life without having to watch his back.

  
Well. At least for now. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CAST LIST-  
> Edward Nygma/The Pickler/The Riffer/Morphine Riddler- Emmaline  
> Oswald Cobblepot- Zella  
> Lee Thompkins- Emmaline


	8. Spill the Tea Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 8 of Gotham: Secret of the Labyrinth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CAST LIST:  
> Edward Nygma & The Riddler- Emmaline  
> Oswald Cobblepot- Zella  
> Olga- Zella 
> 
> Read end notes for a little fun fact about this chapter

It wasn’t until four in the morning that Edward Nygma realized just how creepy the Van Dahl Mansion really was. Ghost-like shadows danced upon as the walls as the branches of looming maple trees whipped around outside; the wind weeping ominously and disrupting the silence that normally filled the Victorian house.

  
Ed pulled off his oxygen mask and then coughed a bit, his chest hitching up and down as it gasped for the much needed air that his body could now not produce on its own. He took a moment to gather himself together, and then swung his right leg over to the side of the bed, sliding his left one that was in a cast over with his hands.

  
Sucking back a groan, Ed clambered into his reclining wheelchair and managed to sit upright, boosting himself away from the bed with a giant push against the spruce headboard.

  
Considering that he was- or, once was- the smartest man in Gotham, Ed didn’t think he would have that much of a hard time maneuvering the wheelchair, but alas, the task was far more daunting than he had originally deemed it to be. Especially when he had to push it himself. He thought about waking up Oswald for a moment and asking him to wheel it around, but decided not to for the sake of his own embarrassment. Edward Nygma did not need help from a thirty-year old man to go to the bathroom at night.

  
Eventually, he made it to the end of the hallway, miraculously managed to use the bathroom all by himself for the first time in six days, washed his hands, and then proceeded to retreat back into his room.

  
As Ed rolled past all the grand paintings and sailor-like trinkets displayed on the ebony bookshelves and end tables, he came across one empty room in particular that was swung open a couple inches. Normally he wouldn’t think anything of it, but heading down the opposite direction than he was before, he spotted something eerily familiar inside- a full-body portrait of Oswald Cobblepot with a conspicuous green question mark spray-painted over it. A sudden fragment of a memory pierced his mind- one of heartbreak, betrayal, and shame. Ed lapsed out and tried to cling onto the memory as much as he could, but came up short like he always did.

  
“Wow.” The Riddler sauntered up behind him, holding a chocolate ice cream cone. “You _really_ don’t remember, do you?”

  
“Remember what?” Ed’s head swerved around. “ _Tell me_!”

  
“You know…” the Riddler licked the ice cream obnoxiously, the chocolate smothering all over his nose. “I could, buuuuut…” he pouted, teasing Ed. “As a projection of your psyche, I’m afraid I can’t.”

  
Ed slammed his fist against the side of the wheelchair. “Yes you can. _As_ a projection of my psyche, you are _bound_ to hold and contain ALL the memories that I once had, the hidden parts of my mind; the subconscious realm that secretly _does_ remember, and know, and retain _all_ that information of my life that I had for years! You are EXACTLY the kind of person-or, _thing_ that can help me; if not the _only_!”

  
“Eh.” The Riddler contemplated this. “Maybe that’s just what you’d like to think.” He pointed at the painting. “Can you- OH, EW!” He spit out a chunk of the ice cream. “This is ROCKY ROAD???”

  
Ed rolled his eyes and backed out of the room. Talking to himself was hopeless. In the back of Ed’s mind, he knew that there was nothing that could ever help restore his full memory, and to its highest potential. That wasn’t how amnesia worked. That wasn’t how life worked. That wasn’t how Gotham worked. And he just had to accept that.

  
With a heavy heart and even heavier leg cast, Ed carefully ditched his wheelchair and slugged back into bed, reluctantly strapping on his oxygen mask again before falling asleep. Lee said that he had to be stabilized on it for at least seven-to-ten days, and use it at thirty-eight Decibels via the concentrator machine whilst sleeping.

  
The howling wind outside didn’t make Ed’s night any more enjoyable, and it took him a while to drift off again; but when he did, he dreamt of giant hamster balls and something else vaguely familiar- putting a bullet in Oswald’s gut.

* * *

 

Oswald awoke at the reasonable hour of eight AM, as usual, throwing his Charlotte Thomas sheets aside as he sat up, running a hand through his sleep-ruffled hair.

  
Living with Ed again this past week had been… different than Oswald had been expecting. He knew it would be difficult, considering Ed’s condition, but he had never quite seen the man so dispirited before. Even after he had disposed of Isabella, Ed had simply moped around, but this was different. Not only had Ed lost the ability to function like a normal human being, but he was also struggling with his mind every day. His mind, which was, in his own words, ‘his greatest strength.’

  
Oswald had barely told him anything about the memories he craved to have returned to him. As far as he knew, Ed was only aware that Isabella was gone and they were no longer mayor and Chief of Staff. He knew Ed was bound to ask more questions, but Oswald had prepared himself for as much. As long as he avoided telling Ed the truth about Isabella, everything would be fine. Now telling Ed about his feelings again, however, was different. He felt like, perhaps, with Isabella out of the picture and Ed having to depend on him, there might be a chance for a better outcome than last time. Of course, Oswald would take probably any outcome over the last time he had admitted his feelings to Ed.

  
He supposed he’d just have to cross that bridge when he got there.

  
Oswald let out a sigh, urging himself out of the comfort and warmth of his bed in favor of making himself more presentable and fetching their breakfast. He knew Olga could bring it up herself, but he enjoyed having the privacy with Ed. Even though the man was displeased with having to be confined upstairs, it gave them a place to be where they could remain uninterrupted, for the most part.

  
He stripped himself of his slate grey cotton pajamas, picking himself out a three-piece suit for the day. He chose his deep eggplant suit, complemented by his violet vest and dark purple tie with segmented spirals. He pulled it on piece by piece, finishing off his look with amethyst cufflinks he had once received as a gift from Ed. The man had always known him so well.

  
After going through the process of styling his feathered hair and applying light makeup, he quietly made his way down the mahogany stairs, entering the kitchen.

  
“Breakfast for you and invalid.” Olga grunted, nodding towards the tray containing two omelets with toast and sliced fruit. “No onions for string bean,” she added before turning away and grabbing the feather duster. “I clean. Go, eat,” she insisted, shooing him away.

  
Oswald knew better than to argue with Olga (not that he had anything to complain about), and grabbed his and Ed’s breakfast, hobbling back up the stairs.

He headed down the long hallway until he reached Ed’s door, giving it three light knocks, as customary. “Ed?” he called out. “I’m here with breakfast.”

  
Muffled, incomprehensible gibberish replied through the closed door.

  
“I’m assuming that means I can come in,” Oswald warned the man, entering Ed’s bedroom while balancing the tray with their breakfast, trying his best to not spill Ed’s coffee and his orange juice. It was still strange to see Ed with the oxygen machine, his wheelchair never too far from his side. Though he did have to admit, the quiet hum from the concentrator was rather soothing, at times.

  
He sat their breakfast down at the foot of the bed, heading over to the windows so he could slowly draw back the curtains, letting some light in. The snow still continued to fall outside, the white pigment from it all almost blinding to look at. He’d be glad to see green once more.

“You slept well, I hope?” he asked, making for small conversation as he sat on the edge of the bed, sliding their breakfast closer to Ed.

  
Ed snorted, then immediately choked; as he hadn’t yet removed the mask from his face. He weakly flailed out his hands in Oswald’s direction to prevent him from running over, but ever since the accident Oswald was like a helicopter mom, and was already at his side within the first half-second.

  
Oswald practically tore the mask off his face and flung it aside like a frisbee, not giving any regard to the fact that Ed would need it again in twelve hours. He turned on his side, away from the Penguin and fixed his eyes on a spider dangling from the ceiling.

  
“Ed, wha-” Oswald followed Ed’s eyes and spotted the spider his friend seemed so fixated on. “Really Ed?” He sighed, standing back up and pulling out his handkerchief, carefully grabbing the eight-legged creature and moving to the window. He unlatched it, cracking it to not let too much of the cold breeze intrude Ed’s bedroom before tossing the spider out, watching it fly out into the snow and out of sight. “There. Better?” he asked, closing the window quickly and brushing off the bit of snow that had landed on the cuff of his sleeve.

  
Ed rubbed at his nose aggressively, the skin around the nostrils red and inflamed from having to breathe via the oxygen concentrator for eight-hours straight every single day. “Whatever.” He croaked; his voice hoarse and raw like sandpaper from the same effect.

  
Oswald exhaled, the sound of Ed’s voice and his lack of response bringing a certain pang to his chest. “Here, drink something,” he insisted, sitting back down on the bed one more and holding out Ed’s coffee. “Or I can get you some water, if you’d prefer.”

  
Ed would’ve waved Oswald off if he had the energy, but these days, his energy was limited and expelled on certain things. He just shrugged, still indirectly ignoring him.

  
Oswald held back yet another sigh, trying his best not to let Ed’s nonchalance get to him. He set his plate with his omelet on his lap, quietly picking at it as he searched for something to say. Talking to Ed used to be so much easier before Isabella and the accident happened.

  
“Still no news on Jeremiah’s whereabouts,” he decided to say, plucking a pepper out of his egg and moving it around the plate. “I’ll probably give Jim a call today and see if anything has changed. Honestly, the GCPD seems _so_ useless these days, it’s unlikely.”

  
“He didn’t do it.” Ed swallowed, the simple action being very tough on his brittle throat. “I just know. It wasn’t Jeremiah.”

“Well, he’s the best lead we have,” said Oswald, not wanting to get into an argument right now. Jeremiah was a very likely suspect. _Why would Jeremiah just happen to come across Ed and then help him_?

  
Annoyed, Ed rolled over and met Oswald’s eyes. “Trust me, I’m right. I know you think I lost my mind, and maybe I did- a little, but I’m not crazy. I don’t know exactly who it was, but it definitely wasn’t Jeremiah.” He sat up a little, his pajama shirt coming up a bit and exposing his belly.

  
Oswald nearly choked on the bit of egg he had just popped into his mouth, quickly looking away from Ed’s exposed stomach. “I- I never said you were crazy,” he stammered as he tried to defend himself. “Losing your memories doesn’t mean you lost your mind.” He cleared his throat, staring down at the food in his lap instead of Ed. “But if you believe that Jeremiah is innocent, then fine, I’ll take your word for it. There’s still a chance he saw who really did do this to you though.”

  
Ed licked his lips and gestured to the toast and sliced fruit, moving on. “Is that honeydew?”

  
“Yes, I believe it is,” Oswald responded, his throat going dry at the sight of Ed’s tongue moistening his lips, wondering what it would be like if it were his tongue licking those lips. “You should, uh, probably hurry and eat before everything goes cold.”

  
Ed reached out for his plate, not having to put too much effort into it being that his arms were longer than a squid’s tentacles. “Thanks,” he replied briefly before chomping down into the slice of honeydew, the cold, juicy, refreshing fruit instantly relieving his thirst. It was like drinking from a waterfall after having hiked in the jungle for ten hours.

  
Oswald smiled warmly to himself, glad that Ed was finally eating. It hurt him to see his friend despondent. He missed the old, more upbeat Ed. He even missed his silly riddles. Perhaps he’d return to his old-self soon enough.

  
Ed chewed and swallowed; making his way through Olga’s breakfast slowly but surely. A few times though he had to look out the window and distract himself, not wanting Oswald to see how much he was struggling. After about ten minutes or so, he and Oswald finished up their breakfast in silence; the lack of conversation being awkward and painful to Oswald but easing and fine for Ed. “So.” He wiped his mouth with the sleeve of the velvet pajamas Oswald has requested for him at the tailor's. “Where are you going today?”

  
“Back to the GCPD, I suppose.” Oswald sighed heavily, setting his empty plate back on the tray beside them. “Jim and his two-legged dog were supposed to call and update me on any news regarding your case, but they haven’t, of course. Incompetent morons,” Oswald mumbled, glaring at a spot on the floor.

  
In that moment, Ed decided that he had had enough. This silly tea party was as already forced and uncomfortable as it was, and Ed wouldn't stand for anymore of Oswald's daily bitching about what he thought was wrong or witless in Gotham. “Would you shut up for one second? Nobody asked for your self-righteous opinion on the GCPD. Stop complaining; you're just making things worse.” He slammed down his fork.

  
Oswald jumped at the sound of metal meeting china, eyes widening at Ed’s sudden outburst. “Ed…” he began, practically speechless. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you…”

  
“-Oswald I do NOT want to hear it from you right now! I don't care about your stupid remarks on Harvey Bullock, or Jim Gordon, or Jeremiah Valeska; you can take your prudish opinions and feed them to the high horse you sit on for all I care!” Ed balled up his napkin, wiped his mouth compulsively, that somehow aroused Oswald despite Ed's fury, and reached out for the wheelchair.

  
“What the HELL is wrong with you?” Oswald asked, furious. “All I’ve been trying to do is help you! I’ve let you back into my home and have waited on you hand and foot, and for WHAT? For you to get mad when I try to figure out who did this to you?” he shouted, jumping to his feet which caused pain to shoot through his right leg. He gasped, grabbing his knee. “Go to hell Edward Nygma,” he gritted out.

  
Ed gasped back. “How VERY DARE YOU!” In a frenzy, he picked up Oswald's jar of orange juice and flung it all over his $1000 outfit.

  
Oswald’s jaw dropped as cold orange juice dripped from his body, seeping through the fabrics and ruining one of his favorite suits. His first thought was to kick Ed’s wheelchair in retaliation, but quickly thought better of it. Instead, he spun around and stormed out of Ed’s room without another word, absolutely fuming with anger.

  
“I HOPE YOU CHOKE ON YOUR UMBRELLA!” Ed hollered as Oswald slammed the door shut.

  
“SHUT IT, NYGMA!” Oswald screamed back, going to his own bedroom and slamming that door as well, shaking the whole house. Piece by piece, he began to remove his ruined suit, slinging it on the floor with little care.  


  
If Ed didn’t want to hear about Jeremiah or the GCPD anymore, then fine, but he wasn’t going to stop searching for whoever was responsible for this mess of theirs. The sooner he got to wring their necks, the better he’d feel. He pulled his phone out of his discarded pants and dialed Jim’s number, going to voicemail, as usual. “JIM, I’M COMING OVER. YOU BETTER HAVE SOME GOOD NEWS FOR ME!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so this is probably one of my (Emmaline's) favorite chapters because it was the first one that Zella and I really let loose on; there have been chapters before of where some crazy stuff has went down, but I believe when we were working on this one, Zella was on some pain medication and after writing for three and a half hours straight, this is what happened. The middle/end of the chapter is the result of what happens when Emmaline is glued to the computer with no break for four hours and has to deal with a bratty Ed Nygma. It was a pleasure to roast Oswald even though she loves him dearly.  
> *Although we would never include something that doesn't feel natural; we both felt that the flow of this scene was accurate, especially considering the emotional and physical states of both of these characters.


	9. Club of Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 9 of Gotham: Secret of the Labyrinth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CAST LIST:   
> Jim Gordon- Emmaline   
> Oswald Cobblepot- Zella  
> Selina Kyle- Emmaline

The blare of an upcoming car horn caused Jim Gordon’s Buick Riviera to swerve around jaggedly in the street, nearly crashing straight into a stoplight outside of a veterinary hospital.

  
“OW! DAMNIT OSWALD!” Jim reeled back his hand and sucked on the skin, Oswald’s searing hot chocolate having been sprayed all over his arm when the car flew off the road. “Stupid snow. People in Gotham don’t know how to drive in it.”

  
“People meaning you, it seems,” Oswald mumbled, licking his thumb and trying to get some of the hot chocolate that had spilled onto his pants out. Well, there went another suit. He was just not having a good day today. “Do you even _know_ where you’re going?”

  
Jim grunted. “Yes, Oswald. Like I said, since Ed had his accident on the streets, Selina Kyle is the most likely person to have any further information regarding what exactly went down. It’s going to be tougher than usual to find her, since the world is a blizzard outside, but I trust that she’ll run into us. She always does.”

  
He reached into the glove compartment and pulled out some Starbucks napkins, first wiping them on his sleeves before handing them over to Oswald.

  
“Thank you,” Oswald grumbled, accepting the napkins Jim had offered and dabbing at his suit some more. “Are you sure a teenager is going to know where to find Jeremiah? I know the girl has her ways, but he’s not an easy man to track down.”

  
“Yeah well you should try being a cop, and then you can say something about it.” Jim examined the snowstorm a moment before reluctantly swinging the car door open, immediately being taken aback by the furious winds.

  
Oswald snorted. “No thanks, I’ll stick to the underworld,” he decided, following Jim’s lead and exiting the car. Thankfully, he had brought his cane with him for their little excursion, its support helping him brave the snow, winds, and ice.

  
“SO WHAT NOW?” he shouted over the howling winds, his hair blowing wildly.

  
“UHH…” Jim had to cheat out his body at an aslant angle, trying to face Oswald while at the same time standing in the opposite direction the wind was pushing. “I THINK I KNOW A PLACE WHERE SHE MIGHT BE, BUT IT’S UM...NOT THE FRIENDLIEST.”

“JUST SPIT IT OUT JIM,” Oswald insisted, already crabbed due to Ed’s earlier behaviour and the weather. Wherever Jim was taking them, he was sure he could handle it; especially if a teenage girl could.

  
“YOU’RE NOT GOING TO LIKE THIS, BUT THE SIRENS CLUB!” Jim suddenly grappled his arms around the stoplight they nearly crashed into, as a sweeping gust of icy wind roared at him and Oswald.

  
“WHAT?!” Oswald cawed, slowly but surely following after Jim; his bad leg trembling as he struggled to tread through the deep blanket of snow that surrounded them. “ARE YOU KIDDING ME JIM? YOU DO KNOW THEY TRIED TO HAVE ME KILLED, CORRECT?”

  
“YES OSWALD, YOU DO KNOW THAT BARBARA USED TO BE MY FIANCE, CORRECT?” Jim retorted back. “IT’S THE MOST LIKELY PLACE, UNFORTUNATELY, BUT IF YOU REALLY WANT TO FIND OUT WHO WANTS EDWARD NYGMA DEAD THEN YOU’RE GOING TO HAVE TO SUCK IT UP. C’MON, IT’S JUST AROUND THIS CORNER!” He stomped away.

  
“UGH! FINE!” Oswald groaned, using the wall as another form of support. He could already hear the club music's steady beat as they approached the Sirens. Once again, Oswald checked his coat pocket for his gun. Ex-fiance or not, if Barbara tried anything, he was putting a bullet in her skull.

  
“ALRIGHT, HERE WE GO!” Ramming his shoulder into the door, Jim dauntlessly sprinted into the club of death, leaving the door open for only a second before slamming it shut on Oswald’s tail.

  
“OW! WATCH IT, GORDON!” Oswald hissed, rubbing his rear as they entered the club. Quickly, he attempted to fix his hair; not wanting to look like a complete disaster in front of his sworn enemies.

  
The sultry, lively ambience of the club immediately warmed Jim up, but he passed on the coat rack and booked it straight to the center area. He scanned the drunken crowd for Selina, not spotting her amongst the dozens of hard-core party animals. “DO YOU SEE HER, OSWALD?”

  
Oswald tried to stand on his tiptoes, unable to see above the heads of the crowd. Unfortunately, having a bum leg forbade him to do such a thing very well. “NO, BUT I THINK SOME PERV JUST GROPED ME!” he shouted above the music and drunks.

“THAT’S DISGUSTING, WHY WOULD YOU TELL ME THAT?” Jim swallowed back a gag. “JUST, LET’S GO UPSTAIRS; BARELY ANYONE KNOWS ABOUT IT SO IT’S THE MOST LIKELY PLACE FOR SELINA TO BE. THERE’S JUST STORAGE. TRY TO KEEP UP.” He motioned for Oswald to follow him, and for a second thought about holding his hand, but decided not to.

  
Oswald quickly shoved through the crowd of colorful characters, following Jim up the stairs and into a much quieter atmosphere. He took a breath. “This place is a nightmare,” he said, crinkling his nose in disgust. In his opinion, his club had been much more tasteful. “This better not all be a waste of time.”

  
Jim scoffed. “Are you only capable of complaining about things? All you’ve ever done since I offered to help you has been whine about everyone and everything.” He wanted to go off at Oswald, but for the sake of the rest of the investigation, held his tongue. He pulled back a beaded curtain and led Oswald to more stairs.

  
“Well _you_ try living with a disabled Edward Nygma for a week!” Oswald defended himself, feeling like he had the right to be a bit grumpy after the morning he had had. “But for the sake of our investiga-”Oswald stopped when he spotted the stairs Jim had just revealed, groaning. “Great, there’s _more_ stairs?”

  
“No there’s actually an elevator.”

  
“Finally! Some good news.”

  
Jim stopped dead in his tracks. “You honestly believed that?” He suddenly felt a little ashamed of mocking Penguin that way. Jim never had a limp in his life, and he sure didn’t want to find out what it would be like to have one. “This is the last flight, I promise.” He took off, using the rail to propel him forward.

  
“You are walking on thin ice, Gordon!” Oswald assured the man, hoisting himself up the stairs as quickly as he could; doing his best to not put more strain onto his bad leg.

  
When they reached the top, he was almost out of breath, but tried not to show it; straightening his tie and getting a better grip on his cane. “So where to now?”

  
“I-”

  
“What are _you_ two doing here?” Selina Kyle hopped off a stack of wine crates, skulking up to the dynamic duo. She folded her arms, trying to look superior.

  
“Selina, it's been awhile,” Oswald greeted the girl, relieved to see that she was actually residing in the club. “Where are your babysitters? Out trying to steal someone else’s throne?” he teased with a smirk.

  
Selina arched an eyebrow. “No. They got snowed in at Barbara’s apartment.” She shifted her weight. “Although that would be a _lot_ more exciting.”

  
“Well we’re glad you’re here, because there’s actually something very important that we need to talk to you about.” Jim said hopefully.

  
Selina’s eyes immediately widened in disgust. “Seriously?”

  
“We’re looking for Jeremiah Valeska,” Oswald began to explain, placing both of his hands on the head of his cane. “He may or may not have been involved in an accident regarding Edward Nygma last week. It happened on the corner of Fifth-Avenue and Horton Street.”

  
Selina waited for him to finish. “Okay. What happened?”

“Apparently he was hit by a car and-”

  
“Wait, for real?” Selina shook her head in disbelief. “That’s, that’s wow. That sucks. Even for Nygma.” A slight hint of sympathy was in her voice, but for the most part, she didn’t seem too concerned.

  
“Agreed,” said Oswald with a sigh, thinking about Ed’s solemn state. “So do you know where we might find Valeska?”

  
“Hate to break it to you buddy but I hate that creep just as much as the next guy around.” Selina shrugged. “So nope.” 

“Great,” Oswald whined, turning back to Jim. “So this all has been a tremendous waste of time!”

  
Jim rubbed his forehead. “Well thanks anyways, Selina.” He responded, disgruntled.

  
“Yep. Now you two should get out of here. Barbara’s going to be pissed when she finds out you guys showed up when she was gone.” An idea suddenly clicked into her head. Selina smiled smugly. “Actually, you’re gonna have to pay me to keep my mouth shut.”

  
“Oh, you’ve _got_ to be joking!” Oswald objected, throwing his head back with annoyance. “I just had one of my best bespoke suits ruined! How much?” he asked, just wanting to get out of the hellhole Barbara insisted was a club.

  
Jim withdrew a wadded up twenty from his wallet, handing it over solemnly.

  
“This isn’t going to be enough. Give me fifty.”

  
Jim was too tired to sigh or exhale, so he slipped out another twenty and ten robotically. Selina took it.

  
“Thanks. Now bye.” She disappeared into a room behind the wine crates.

  
“Honestly, asking for payment after telling us nothing. The nerve…” Oswald mumbled, looking up to Jim. “So now what, Jim? Got any more bright ideas on where we should go? Every second we waste is just another second that cretin who struck Ed gets to walk around free!”

  
Flustered, Jim let out a cry of exasperation. “You ask me like I’m Sherlock Holmes or something! I just work for the GCPD, I don’t know everything Oswald!” He leaned against the staircase banister, trying to compose himself. “Look, what I’m about to say next isn’t going to sound pretty; pretty nutty, actually, but our best chances of finding Jeremiah is to directly reach out to him. If he won’t come to us, then we go to him.” He waited for Oswald’s head to explode.

  
“Go to him? Reach out to him? What, do you have his number or something Jim, because if you do, THEN YOU JUST SHOULD HAVE SAID SO!” Oswald snapped, growing overly frustrated.

  
“WELL OBVIOUSLY NOT! DO YOU EVEN THINK ABOUT WHAT YOU SAY BEFORE YOU SAY IT?” Jim lost his balance, nearly falling down the stairs. “GAH-” he caught himself on Oswald’s cane, the force of his weight accidentally pulling it out from underneath him. Oswald fell flat on his face. Jim cringed.

  
Oswald hissed in pain, rubbing his beaked nose as more anger swelled up within him. Despite his efforts, it seemed as though things would not be getting better for him anytime soon today, and the thought of having to go back to Ed at the end of it all didn’t help. After their last encounter, it would be hard to face the man again.

  
Oswald sat up, face red with both rage and slight embarrassment. “WOULD YOU WATCH YOURSELF?! GIVE ME BACK MY CANE!” he demanded, shooting out a hand to reach for the item.

  
“SORRY, HERE YOU GO-” Jim shoved the cane out, embarrassed as well, but in his swift movement, jammed it into Oswald’s collarbone.

  
“OW!” Oswald shrieked, yanking the cane from Jim’s grip, using it to help himself get to his feet rather ungracefully. “I SWEAR GORDON, I’VE HAD IT UP TO HERE TODAY!” he shouted, lifting his hand above his head. “AND IF WE DON’T GET SOME GOOD NEWS SOON, I CANNOT PREDICT WHAT I MIGHT DO!”

  
“WELL THEN WHY DON’T YOU GO ON THE ROOF AND BLAST FIREWORKS THAT SPELL OUT JEREMIAH’S NAME IN FLASHING RED LIGHTS, OKAY?” Oswald’s anger was projecting onto Jim, making him increasingly aggravated. “I’M LEAVING NOW, EITHER COME OR DON’T.” He stood up and dusted off his pants.

  
“I’M COMING!” Oswald promised, dusting himself off as well before beginning his careful descent down the stairs.

  
When they reached the front door, Jim sucked in a large breath before confronting Gotham’s cursed snowstorm, charging down the road despite the fact that he could slip at any given time and break his nose. He made it to the car, unlocked it, and tapped his foot impatiently at Oswald struggled through the dastardly weather.

  
Oswald slid a few times over the ice at the front of the club, but managed not to fall once more. He noticed Jim tapping his foot and rolled his eyes. “I’m almost there,” he assured the man, hobbling over to the passenger’s side of the car.

  
Once inside, he let out a breath, resting his cane beside him. “Alright, so how are we going to contact Valeska?” he asked, exhaustion starting to set in and calm him down more. “I mean, it’s not like we can go to every street corner and call for him, and I’d rather not have to revisit Wayne Manor.”

  
Jim’s tongue circled the inside of his cheek, thinking hard. “If worse comes to worse we’ll just broadcast a message over the radio. I think Jeremiah would love the attention.”

  
“That does sound like something he’d enjoy,” Oswald agreed, leaning back his seat. “Very well, a broadcast it is.”

  
“Wonderful.” Jim said sarcastically. He started up the engine again. “Here goes nothing. We’ll do it tomorrow.” He peered back over his shoulder, backed up slower than a sloth, and set out to drop off Oswald at the Van Dahl Mansion.


	10. Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 10 of Gotham: Secret of the Labyrinth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CAST LIST:   
> Jeremiah- Emmaline   
> Ecco- Zella 
> 
> Hey shoutout to anyone who gets the title of this chapter. Emmaline is a Ravenclaw. Zella a Slytherin.

Ecco sat with her feet on the maple wood table at her and Jeremiah’s base, filing her nails as the legs of the seat threatened to slip right out from under her as she reclined. After the Riddler had been struck down by a Taco Bell truck of all things, her life had been fairly uneventful. Sure, she and Jeremiah still did their occasional crazy here and there, but nothing _that_  maniacal. She missed the unknown and the passion.

  
She sighed, sticking the nail file in her hair as she turned up the volume on their vintage radio, chewing on her freshly-filed thumbnail. “Uh… Puddin’?” she called out, noticing that her music had been interrupted by a certain GCPD detective. “You might wanna hear this!”

  
Jeremiah gave a low growl like a badger, lazily flinging his suave Fedora off of his face and groggily sitting up from the battered old couch that he was taking a nap on. “Ecco,” he tried to keep from stuttering in his vexation, “what...did...I...say...about _waking me up while I am sleeping!_ ”

  
Ecco frowned, lowering her feet off the table, the front legs of her chair hitting the floor again with a quiet thud. “Aw, I’m sorry Puddin’,” she said quietly, looking like a kicked puppy before quickly perking back up again. “It’s just that Jim Gordon is on the radio! Sounds like he wants to see ya!”

  
“erghWHAT!” Jeremiah spat. He kicked up his legs and launched himself onto the floor. “Jim Gordon, are you sure?”

  
Ecco leaned closer to the radio, practically putting her ear right against the speaker. “Uh-huh!” she confirmed with an enthusiastic nod, grinning wildly.

  
“Give me that-” Jeremiah brashly pushed past her, still a bit irked that she had disturbed his rare silent moments of beauty sleep. He stretched his arms out over the width of the table, leaning closer to the radio and attentively listening to every last word. After a few minutes he exchanged his thoughts with Ecco. “So...the little birdie says he wants to meet us in person, huh?” He asked coyly.

  
“You think it's got something to do with the riddle guy?” she queried, nearly bouncing in the seat of her chair due to the excitement. This was exactly the type of thing she had been looking for! Hopefully Gordon wouldn’t ruin it and be boring though. He did have a tendency to be a party pooper. “Are we gonna go meet ‘em?”

  
Jeremiah faced Ecco directly, a twinkle in his gossamer eye. “Yes...but on our terms.” He reached back and turned one of the radio switches, manipulating the system to broadcast himself back. After all his juvenile business in Gotham, he had learned how to tamper with its technology. “This is a message for Jim Gordon...meet me at St. Gregory’s Cathedral on the far south side of town. Come alone, and unarmed. I imagine this meeting will go quite splendid if you respect these rules.” He circled his head around and chuckled. “Be there in one hour. Sharp. I don’t like people who are late.” He turned off the radio.

  
“Ohhhh, a church!” Ecco giggled, hopping out of her chair and over to Jeremiah. “How romantic,” she smiled, latching onto his arm. “So should I grab the bat or the gun?”


	11. The Bells of Jeremiah *insert French choir*

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Eleven of Gotham: Secret of the Labyrinth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is very long so I apologize if there are any errors or weird formatting things that need to be corrected; I transfer everything over and have to re-format every single time. 
> 
> CAST LIST:   
> Jim Gordon- Emmaline   
> Jeremiah Valeska- Emmaline   
> Oswald Cobblepot- Zella   
> Ecco- Zella

For someone who lived in a place called “Gotham”, it was ironic that Jim Gordon detested the gothic cathedral that Jeremiah had picked out. But the way that the historic, Victorian-style building sat like an ebony giant atop a craggy hill with dead, crispy grass gave him an ominous feeling, especially since he knew who he was going up against. Flocks of ravens were scattered around the hillside, and gnarly roots and brambles that crawled like Medusa’s snakes from out of a caliginous thicket added to the eerie element. Even the sky was uncanny. It wasn’t even one PM yet, but for some strange reason the area around the perimeter of the church was cascaded by low, foggy clouds, and the little sky that Jim could see was a sunset pink. He checked his watch one more time to make sure.

  
“Alright Oswald. Looks like the place.” Jim blew out a breath. “I honestly shouldn’t have expected anything else.”

  
“It certainly looks… promising,” Oswald said stiffly, hearing the faint sound of crows cawing from outside the car. It certainly did look like the sort of location Jeremiah would choose. Honestly, and people thought _he_ had the flair for dramatics. Jeremiah took things to a whole new level, in his opinion. “Well, I suppose it _could_ be worse. We could still be dealing with Jerome,” he said, repressing a shudder at the thought.

  
Jim shivered, unconsciously syncing with Oswald. “Don’t speak too soon; this place looks like the perfect spot to pop back from the dead for a third time.” He pulled up to the wrought-iron gate, or what was left of it. One of the doors was missing, and the side that hadn’t been torn off had a large hole in the middle of the bars. “You know what- I’m parking here. There’s no way in hell I’m putting the car up there; I’m not going to risk us getting robbed or hijacked by grave-digging freaks who would hang around in these parts of Gotham.”

  
Oswald rolled his eyes, only partially amused by Jim’s paranoia. “Great, more walking,” he grumbled, pulling back on his black leather gloves. “Fine, do as you wish. The sooner we get this over with, the better.” He was growing rather weary of all the traveling he had been doing the past week, not to mention all the drama he had been put through as well. He just wanted to track down whoever had started all of this so he could perhaps have more of a chance to rest.

  
“Well hey, at least it’s not snowing here.” Jim cracked open the car door and dubiously stepped out onto the dusty road, pausing for a moment as a sickly thin bunny rabbit bounded out of the forest and in between a rock crevice.

  
Oswald snickered. “What’s the matter Jim? Afraid?” he teased, limping over to the man.

  
“Pft. You wish.” Jim acted self-assured but shot one last glance over his shoulder, checking to make sure that no monsters from Indian Hill or fantastical creatures would come out and jump scare them. He nearly pulled out the pistol he had secretly packed in his overcoat pocket to defend himself, but was reminded of Jeremiah’s ‘rules’, and kept the weapon at bay. He started out towards the cathedral. “C’mon. Try to make it up the hill without complaining.”

  
“Only if _you_ can make it up without jumping at every little thing you see,” Oswald continued to mock, starting his ascent up the jagged hill. “I would offer to hold your hand, but I’d rather not,” he pestered, smirking to himself. “Your sweat would ruin my leather.”

  
Jim ignored Oswald and ran to the top just to spite him, having to wait a full minute and a half before the Penguin reached the top. When he did, he was out of breath. “Be quiet, you’re going to let Jeremiah know we’re here before we can scope out our cover.”

  
“You be quiet,” said Oswald like a child, struggling a bit more than usual to keep up with the other man since he forwent his cane. He had figured that if things went south, it would be harder to have to keep up with the infernal thing.

  
Taking a moment to gather himself, Jim warily walked up to the cathedral doors, feeling intimidated by their looming size and faded gold lustre. The intricate patterns carved into the metal weren’t exactly the most pleasing either, being ones of wolf heads and roses with prominent thorns on them. “Well…” he shook his head. “Just another day in Gotham City.” He placed his palms over the doors since they didn’t have any handles, and gave it a vigorous push, having to exert a bit of manpower to enter the cryptic building.

  
Oswald cringed at the creaking of doors, the sound echoing through the obscure, granular chapel. “What was that about being quiet?” he mumbled, slowly stepping inside. His nose crinkled in disgust at the state the chapel was in; cobwebs clinging to every corner while dust arose and settled from his footsteps. It was faintly quiet, yet there was a ghastly presence in the atmosphere. Oswald didn't know if he was imagining it or if the cathedral was actually haunted. It was difficult to tell when the whole place seemed to wreak of death and despair.

  
The doors suddenly slammed shut behind them, causing Jim to spring into the air like a jack-in-the-box and Oswald to yelp like a weasel. They both looked at each other, embarrassed for a moment, but shared a mutual exchange and pressed onward. 

As they moved deeper and deeper into the chapel, the rooms got darker and increasingly more narrow. Flickering torch light blazed dimly from braziers on the moldy stone walls, being enough to allow the two men to see but not so brightly that they could look behind them and make out objects. The hairs on the back of Jim’s neck started to raise, and he mentally kicked himself for feeling panicky.

  
“Oswald,” he whispered, “where do you think Jeremiah is?”

  
“Well, judging from Jeremiah’s love of theatrics and all things deathly, I’d have to say the catacombs would be our best bet,” Oswald guessed quietly, glaring at the spiral staircase he knew they’d most certainly have to descend.

  
More shivers ran up Jim’s spine, but he focused on his present self. “Okay. Catacombs it is-”

  
All of a sudden the ear-splitting clang of a dozen bells shattered the harrowing silence in which the cathedral had been encased in a moment ago, the deafening echoes ricocheting off the hollow walls and scaring the bejeezus out of Jim Gordon.

  
Oswald yelled out in surprise, quickly clamping his hands over his ears. “ALRIGHT, I STAND CORRECTED. HE IS MOST CERTAINLY _NOT_ IN THE CATACOMBS!” he tried shouting over the sonorous bonging.

  
“CLEARLY!” Jim’s hands shot over his ears as well, and he ended up backing against a moth-eaten tapestry to gain support from all the thundering voices of the bells. “BELL TOWER, I ASSUME?” He swallowed. “I DIDN’T EVEN KNOW THIS CHURCH HAD ONE OF THOSE! THEY MUST BE LOCATED IN THE VERY BACK OF THE BUILDING!”

  
“THEN LET'S GET A MOVE ON!” Oswald insisted, pushing forward. “LEAVE IT TO THAT WHITE-FACED FREAK TO MAKE THIS AS UNBEARABLE AS POSSIBLE!” he continued to shout, walking past the undusted pews of the chapel. “WHEN I SEE HIM, I’M GOING TO KILL HIM!”

  
“IF HE DOESN’T KILL YOU FIRST. I THINK IT’S THIS WAY!” Jim waved his right arm over his head like a frantic cheerleader, even though Oswald was just a foot away from him. They ended up walking around in circles for a few minutes before finally discovering a secluded passageway that led up fourteen flights of stairs to the cathedral’s roof and bell tower.

  
Jim progressed on without stopping while Oswald struggled per usual, but eventually they both made it up and into the ill-boding terrace.

  
The actual bell tower was a lot more capacious than Jim had pictured it out to be. He knew that by how raucous and echoing the chime of the bells were downstairs, that there had to be at least two or three; but lo and behold, there were thrice as many. Metal bells that were four feet wide spanned the length of the belfry, their once satiny sheen now rusted away by time and erosion. The wood planks beneath them creaked like nails on a chalkboard, indicating to Jim that no one had been up in the bell tower for a very, very long time. For a second he thought that maybe Jeremiah didn’t ring the bells, but his doubt washed away quickly. “Oswald...do you see him anywhere?”

  
Oswald scanned the bell tower, searching for who could be described as one of the most flamboyant men in Gotham. If Jeremiah was there, he figured he’d be much easier to spot. “Not yet…” he replied, keeping his guard up. If there was someone who he could never trust, it was that white-faced, green-haired clown.

  
“Uh-ooohhhh! Looks like someone didn’t follow the rules!” came a familiar voice that Oswald couldn’t quite pinpoint the location of. “I don’t remember us inviting a little birdie along!”

  
“Great, he brought his cooky girlfriend along,” Oswald sighed, trying to find where she was at.

  
Jim suddenly felt something tickle the back of his neck. His hand instinctively shot to the gun on his belt, but as he whirled around to confront the person or thing at gunpoint, a paper party horn was blown in his face.

  
“SURPRISE!!!” Jeremiah cackled like a witch. “Oh sorry, did I _scare_ you, Jim?”

  
Oswald reached for his own gun in his coat, but jumped in surprise when he too was startled by a party horn in his ear, Ecco appearing right next to him and letting out a shriek of laughter.

  
“Oh! Look at them, Puddin’! They’re _shakin_ ’!” she exclaimed with glee, poking Oswald in the chest.

  
Jim checked his pulse, nearly having a heart attack. “What the hell Jeremiah!”

  
“Oh I wouldn’t use the uh, ‘h’ word here. We _are_ in a church, please have some respect for the...whatever these people call themselves.” Jeremiah gestured to the air. “Ah. Excuse me. I usually don’t perform for empty audiences.” He clinked the heel of his boot against the ground, the diamond-headed spur puncturing a hole in the planks between Jim’s feet. “Oops.”

  
Oswald knocked Ecco’s hand away, making the girl pout in disappointment as he took a step back. His hand was still positioned over his gun, but he had yet to withdraw it. He could see, however, that Ecco was armed with a bat. “Enough fooling around, clown!” he spat, looking to Jeremiah who already seemed to be defiling the property. “We came here with questions!”

  
Jeremiah withdrew a Canik TP9 gun from his suede evening coat, shaking it back and forth like a baby rattle. Jim and Oswald could both hear the sound of the bullets jangle around inside, and their nerves started to add some adrenaline in their veins. “Well then go on and ask them. I don’t have all night.” 

Oswald briefly held up his hands, leaving his own gun hidden. “Don’t you think it’s a bit unfair to ask us to come unarmed?” he asked before shaking his head, lowering his hands. “We came here to inquire about Edward Nygma. I believe you _conveniently_ found him last week before calling him to the attention of Bruce Wayne?”

  
Jeremiah threw his head back, yawning. “Ecco, pat him down.”

  
“Sure thing, boss!” Ecco said happily, stepping back up to Oswald, grinning widely.

  
“I swear, if you lay one _finger_ on me I’ll-”

  
“Sorry! Bosses orders!” said Ecco dismissively, beginning her search and flapping her hands along his body. She didn’t get far before she found his gun, opening his coat to remove it.

  
“Hey! That’s-”

  
“Oooooh!” Ecco cut him off again, pulling out his pistol and waving it around dangerously. “Looks like the little birdie brought a toy!” she laughed, giving him a little push before hopping over to Jeremiah and holding out the gun for him.

  
Jeremiah took the gun and moved into a baseball player’s stance, putting his own gun in his pocket before chucking Oswald’s off the side of the tower. It fell into a bird’s nest. “Oh look. How ironic.”

  
“Yeah, yeah Jeremiah you can drop the act. You agreed to meet us here, all you gotta do is answer a few questions.” Jim slowly stepped around him like he was trying to avoid waking a grizzly bear, maneuvering over to Oswald and Ecco.

  
Jeremiah grunted. “Yes, yes. If you insist.” He spat out the last word through his teeth, then sharply turned around to look Oswald in the eye. “To answer your desperate question, yes, I conveniently found Edward Nygma lying the street.” A smile twitched at the corners of his lips. “I also conveniently witnessed the whole thing. It was quite hilarious, if I’m being honest.”

  
Ecco snickered, covering her mouth with a gloved hand at the sheer memory of the Riddler getting slammed by a truck.

  
“You _witnessed_ it?” Oswald repeated. “How do I know you weren’t the one who caused it?” he challenged. He knew Ed had been doubtful of Jeremiah’s involvement, but Oswald still wasn’t completely convinced that the clown was innocent.

  
Jeremiah shrugged. “You don’t. You’re just going to have to off of my honor.”

  
As Jim got closer to Oswald, he noticed something...off about the bells. They seemed to emanate heat, as if they were being boiled on a furnace. He didn’t want to check it out though, with Jeremiah and Ecco right in front of them.

  
Oswald scoffed. “Your honor.” He rolled his eyes. “Please, as if you have such a thing.” He waved his hand. “Fine, fine, let’s say you were innocent. What was it exactly that you saw happen to Ed?”

  
Jeremiah pretended to ponder this, mocking Oswald’s seriousness about the situation. “Hmm. Well...I remember how deformed he looked after he got run over. I remember seeing his bone jut out into his pant leg. I remember the fresh blood that leaked out of his head like a waterfall and died the sheets of snow a gorgeous bright ruby. I remember-”

  
“ENOUGH!” Oswald shouted as his blood boiled. His hands shook beside him, clenched into fists while the leather of his gloves strained. He did not want to hear of the terrible state Ed had been in. It was bad enough seeing how he was now.

  
Ecco practically bent over backwards with laughter.

  
“SHUT UP!” Oswald snapped at the girl, causing her to only laugh louder.

  
“So _angry_!” she chuckled. “No wonder the bean pole dumped you in a river!”

  
Oswald could feel the vein in his temple swell, glaring daggers into the giggling girl. “ _What did you say_?” he whispered venomously.

  
“Aw Puddin’, maybe we should just tell ‘em. He’s getting so grumpy! He might cry!” she snickered.

  
“But then we’d lose all the _fun_ , my dear Ecco.” Jeremiah took two bold steps towards her, placing his hand right under her chin. “And you don’t want to spoil the fun, now do you?”

  
Ecco blushed, her eyes sparkling as she stared up at Jeremiah, giggling yet again before shaking her head. “Not at all, Jeremiah,” she promised.

  
“Good.” Jeremiah brushed the tip of his nose against hers as he dropped her face, clasping his hands behind his back. “Now do you two have any more questions for me, because there’s a story I’d like to tell, and Ecco and I made dinner plans for tonight so get on with it if you do.” 

“I’D LIKE TO KNOW WHO HURT ED!” Oswald growled loudly, growing tired of the charade Jeremiah and his accessory were playing. “YOU AGREED TO MEET US, SO I DEMAND SOME ACTUAL ANSWERS!”

  
“That’s a real shame Oswald, because there are a lot of people who have hurt that funky fellow. Maybe you should start looking at who _he_ hurt, and then you may find your answer.” Jeremiah gave a soft chuckle.

  
Jim gripped the inner bell tower railing, summoning all the strength he had in him to not completely lose his crap and push Jeremiah through an arch. “Jeremiah...do you or do you not know who hit Ed?”

  
“Personally, no.” Jeremiah shrugged once more. “Sorry, can’t help you there.” He abruptly changed the topic.

  
"There was a specific reason why I chose this location to meet with you all here tonight. And no, it's not because of its glorious, 17th century, Parisian architecture, but yet it has a whole congregation of bells on its own. How many do you count, my friends?”

  
Jim restrained from punching Jeremiah in the nose. “Twelve.”

  
“Yes, twelve. There are twelve bells to be exact, which is quite a large number if you ask me. Most churches possess one or two bells at the maximum; twelve just seems a bit over the top. However, you know I do love a dramatic congregation. The reason why there are twelve bells here and not three, or four, is because each of them represents one of the twelve disciples- you can even read their names engraved on the outer rims. See, let me show you.” Jeremiah began to walk around the bells like a lion in the jungle, circling its prey.

  
“First, there’s Peter- whose real name is actually Simon, but he was probably never loved by his mother enough and changed his name because he wanted to be ‘a new man’.” Jeremiah tsked. ‘Then you have the original Simon- Simon the Zealot, but he’s just as disappointing, a fanatic Christian whose obsession with the church earned him his... _lousy_ reputation.” Jeremiah paused a moment, staring at the bell judgingly before he continued down the line, his feet tottering dangerously over the inner edge of the tower.

“Andrew, Matthew, Bartholomew- all the ‘ew’s’, Philip, Thomas, James the Great, James the Less-” Jeremiah chuckled. “What a creative way to distinguish your James’s, am I right Jim? Would it be alright if I started to call you ‘James the Less-Gordon’?”

  
“Sure, after I kick your ass.”

  
Jeremiah simpered. “Moving on, we have John, Jude, and ah- my personal favorite.” Jeremiah stopped right in front of the last bell, directly across from where Jim and Oswald were standing. “Judas Iscariot. Are you familiar with Judas’s tale, lovely investigators?”

  
Oswald groaned, rolling his eyes. This was _exhausting_! And, again, he was no closer to finding Ed’s harasser than he was before! “Yes! Yes! Everyone knows that story!” Oswald barked. Even though he wasn’t particularly a religious man, his mother had been a Roman Catholic, making sure he still knew all the stories of Christ. Listening to Jeremiah go on and on about everything made them almost unbearable.

  
“After ratting out Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane, poor little Judas felt so consumed by his guilt and betrayal that he felt the need to take his own life. He killed himself, as the Bible recalls, either by a hanging, or by physical impact.” Jeremiah clapped his hands for sound effect. 

“Now I told that story just for dramatic effect, but do you want to know what the funny thing about religious people is, my dear guests? They think they can all be saved! That somehow, despite all the greed and desire and evil, there is a higher power who has the ability to save themselves from eternal damnation. That the varsities of sin and corruption can be defeated by virtuosity, faith, repentance.” He scoffed.

  
“As _if_. Their blind devotion and fear of the horrors of the real world make them _weak,_ and easy to destroy. Much like love, which is the deadly sin that you have been eaten by- Oswald Cobblepot.” Jeremiah removed his pistol from his pocket where he had stored it before, aiming it right between Oswald’s eyes.

  
“Lucky for you though, I’m no saviour. I’m no redeemer, I’m no martyr, I’m no saint.” A flash of insanity rippled through his translucent irises. “But I do consider myself a god. A god of mercy?...not so much. Although I don’t have hellfire or brimstone, but I _do_ have something else. Something that the devil might agree with as well.” Jeremiah suddenly leapt up onto the inner railings, grappling one of the bell’s ropes that connected it to the ceiling and climbing up. “ECCO, NOW!”

  
“Bye-bye boys!” Ecco cackled, taking a batter’s stance before she spun around, striking one of the bells and causing it to swing towards Jim and Oswald, pouring molten lead onto the floor. “Have fun!” she said before leaping up onto the railings like Jeremiah had, almost losing her balance before grabbing another rope and starting to climb.

  
Oswald watched in horror as the two escaped by swinging rope to rope much like a monkey would, hot lead quickly covering the floor in front of them and spreading. “Jim…!” Oswald said, backing away, hands held out in front of him as if that were enough to stop the liquid from touching him.

  
“DAMNIT JEREMIAH!” Jim gave him the finger before nearly being swallowed up by a waterfall of molten lead, leaping back like Luigi. He yanked Oswald by the scruff of his coat and reeled him back against the wall, semi-out of harm's way.

  
Oswald instinctively grabbed onto Jim, watching as more lead poured from the bell, splashing up and onto Oswald’s coat and suit, causing him to yell out. He could feel the heat through his clothes, steam rising from his ruined outfit. How many suits did that make now? Three? “DAMMIT JIM, MOVE!” he shouted, pushing Jim towards the stairs.

  
Jim booked it to the stairs but a wave of lead crashed forward violently like a mini sea storm. He yelped, the edge of his shoes skimming the deadly molten substance. “NOPE! BACK UP BACK UP-”

  
“THIS IS _INFURIATING!_ ” Oswald expressed, backing up and trying not to trip. He glanced behind him to only see more lead approaching them. “HOW THE _HELL_ ARE WE SUPPOSED TO GET OUT OF HERE?” he asked, knowing damn well that he was not climbing the ropes like the hooligans had. He wasn’t Tarzan.

  
Jim heard a mad rush like raging river rapids _sloosh_ farther down the line, glancing over Oswald’s tiny head and seeing in great disbelief that on their exhilarating exit, Ecco and Jeremiah had knocked down two more bells with the searing, volcanic liquid inside. “WE CAN’T GO OUT THAT WAY-” He swerved around wildly, doing a spot-on impression of Animal from the Muppets. “I, I DON’T KNOW BUT WE’RE TRAPPED ON EITHER SIDE!”

“TELL ME SOMETHING I DON’T KNOW!” Oswald shouted, backing up some more. This wasn’t actually the end for him, was it? The mighty Penguin thwarted by a couple of _clowns_ and some blazing lead? Surely this couldn’t be it. He was supposed to go down in a blaze of glory! Not a blaze of… well, lead, of all things. And with him gone, what would happen to poor Ed? Ed _needed_ him. He didn’t have anyone else who cared as much as him! He hadn’t even gotten a chance to apologize to him…

  
Oswald continued to back up while the molten liquid filled the bell tower. His back hit the railing, and suddenly, it gave out, falling to the ground and decidingly taking Oswald with it as he cried out.

  
“IF I JUMPED, DO YOU THINK WE COULD MAKE IT ACRO- OSWALD!” Jim felt Oswald’s body behind him suddenly disappear, and naturally dove like a crazed soccer goalie to his rescue. Jim flew across the edge of the cathedral belfry, sliding on his belly and snatching Oswald’s forearm. “HOLD TIGHT!”

  
Oswald had his eyes squeezed closed, ready for the end, but fate apparently had different plans for him as he felt Jim’s hand wrap around his arm. His eyes flew open, fingers gripping Jim’s sleeve in retaliation as he dangled from the top of the bell tower. “WHAT ELSE DO YOU EXPECT ME TO DO?” he couldn’t help but shout back, but more than relieved that the detective had caught him in time. “HURRY AND PULL ME UP!”

  
Jim hollered in pain, having to hold Oswald’s entire weight plus grip the plank that kept him from falling over as well; his hands digging into the sharp wood and receiving a dozen splinters. “JUST, WAIT-” Jim’s head snapped back and forth as he once again scanned any possible exit routes, trying to come up with another situation. He knew that if he pulled Oswald up, there wouldn’t be enough time to escape the tsunami of molten lead that was dawning on them. An idea so crazy that Jeremiah himself may have thought of it struck his mind. “NO! I WON’T!”

  
“WHAT?!” Oswald squawked, gripping onto Jim even tighter, digging his nails into his arm out of anger. “DAMMIT JIM, I AM _NOT_ DYING TODAY!” he decided, trying to gain some footing even though there was nothing beneath him. He was going back home to Ed today one way or another, so help him God!

  
“NEITHER AM I! SO GRAB THAT PUDGY IRON STEEPLE NEXT TO YOU, AND HOLD ON TO IT LIKE IT’S AN XBOX ON BLACK FRIDAY OR YOU WILL FALL TO YOUR DEATH! I’M COMING DOWN! MOVE!” Jim practically kicked Oswald in the face as he swung his leg down, attempting to trade places with him before the liquid spilled over and roasted them both.

  
Oswald had no choice but to follow Jim’s orders as the other man came down. Quickly, he grabbed onto the steeple, swinging both of his arms around it and clinging onto it like a long-lost loved one. “GREAT… NOW WHAT?” he asked, doing his best to not look down. “YOU DON’T EXPECT US TO CLIMB DOWN THIS WHOLE CATHEDRAL, DO YOU?”

  
“NO, WE’RE JUST CLIMBING ACROSS THE SHINGLES TO THE OTHER SIDE OF THE CHURCH! WHEN I WAS UP THERE, I THOUGHT I SPOTTED A SWAMP OR SOMETHING, SO WE CAN JUMP INTO THAT-”

  
“ _JUMP INTO A SWAMP?_!” Oswald screamed, wanting to bash his head against the steeple.

“WHAT, YOU GOT SOMETHING BETTER TO DO?” Jim nudged Oswald’s rib cage with his dusty shoe, prompting him to get moving since he didn’t have anything to grab onto yet except for the nails of the plank.

  
Oswald merely growled in response, deciding that, no, he didn’t have anything better to do. As swiftly and as carefully as he could, he began to ascend the steeple, doing his best to not lose his footing. The air began to cut right through him the higher he got, and, unfortunately, he had to take his gloves off with his teeth to get a better grip on the shingles. The gloves flew away in the wind, causing him to misplace yet another piece of clothing, his fingers turning white in the frigid weather. “IF I EVER SEE THAT GREEN HAIRED DUNCE AGAIN I’M WRINGING HIS NECK!” Oswald swore, slowly reaching the top of the steeple.

  
“YEAH YEAH GET A MOVE ON!” Jim also ground his hands into the stone shingles, scratching up his nails and barely even able to grab hold of something firm anyway. The only thing that was keeping him from falling off was the constant movement, and the kinetic energy that was propelling his body forward. “YOU SEE IT YET?”

  
Oswald scaled the steeple a bit more before he was fully able to peer over it, spotting the swamp Jim had mentioned on the other side. “YES, I SEE IT,” he replied, looking disgusted as he stared into the murky water, thinking about all the things that could dwell within it. It wasn’t like he had any other options though, so the swamp it would be. Hopefully, they wouldn’t freeze to death. Warily, he started to climb to the side, perfectly aligning himself over the muddy waters of the swamp. “ARE YOU SURE ABOUT THIS?” he asked Jim, beginning to doubt this plan of his.

  
“NOPE, BUT IT WOULDN’T BE GOTHAM IF I WAS.” Breathing heavily, Jim skidded up to the top of the steeple and hugged his arms around it. “WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR? GOOOO!”

  
“JUST SHUT UP AND GIVE ME A MOMENT!” Oswald insisted, closing his eyes and taking a few deep breath to help psych himself up. The sooner he jumped, the sooner he could get out of this mess and go back home to Ed. That was worth it, right?

  
With one last sigh, Oswald let go, feeling the wind rush by him as his body quickly plummeted into the ice-cold waters of the grubby swamp. He pushed himself through the water, gasping out as he arose to the surface. “THIS HAS GOT TO BE THE WORST PLAN YOU’VE EVER HAD!” Oswald shouted up to Jim, tasting dirt and muck in his mouth, doubtful that the man could even hear him as he struggled to keep above waters, starting to swim to the edge.

  
“GET OUT OF THE WAY!” Jim came soaring through the air like a torpedo, whizzing around and landing just inches away from where Oswald was standing. He choked on a couple of worms as he stood up, tearing off his soiled jacket and throwing it on the banks.

  
Oswald yelped as more water splashed onto him, his once perfectly styled hair now sticking to his forehead and dripping with sludge. Angrily, he stripped himself of his coat as well as his suit jacket and vest, slinging them into the swamp with no care and loosening his tie. “Well that was yet _another_ waste of time!” he groaned, running his hands wildly through his hair in an attempt to get it back to its former appearance. “Not even the man who witnessed Ed’s attack knows who did it!”

Jim shivered, the freezing muck of the swamp seeping through his clothes and directly onto his skin. “Even if he did know, he probably would’ve lied anyway.” Biting back the bacteria and bile in his mouth from the worms, Jim waded rigidly out of the pond, mud clinging to the inside of his pants and slightly sagging them down.

  
Oswald sighed, shaking due to the cold. “I suppose that’s true,” he mused, crossing his arms in order to try and better warm himself as he started to limp in the direction of Jim’s car. “Although, he did say to start with those that Ed hurt before…” he thought aloud, going ahead and riding himself of his tie as well. “So I suppose that’s better than nothing.” But definitely not worth all the drama they had just endured.

  
Jim and Oswald lugged back in silence to the car, Jim finding it miraculous that it was still intact and ready to go. He fished out his keys from his pocket, along with some rocks and fish eggs, and then stepped into the driver’s seat, too exhausted to give a damn about dirtying the leather. “Where to?” He mumbled.

  
Oswald collapsed into the passenger’s seat, pulling off one of his shoes and shaking the water from it as well as some pebbles. If anything, at least this whole experience helped him realize even more how fleeting life was. He’d have to make sure to apologize to Ed soon. He couldn’t bare the thought of them being on bad terms any longer. Even though Ed couldn’t remember, Oswald was left with the memory of every fight and every attempt on the other’s life. They were some of the worst memories he had. Despite Ed never returning his affections, he was still the greatest friend he had ever had, and he couldn’t keep his feelings pent up again any longer. He needed to be honest with Ed.

  
To some degree, at least.

  
“Home,” Oswald answered Jim, leaning back in his seat. At least he couldn’t imagine things getting much worse.

 

 


	12. Fifty Shades of Library Feels: A Nygmobblepot Opera

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 12 of Gotham: Secret of the Labyrinth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh joy, this one is a ride 
> 
> CAST LIST:  
> Edward Snatch-your-wigma- Emmaline  
> Oswald Instant Pot- Zella  
> Olga- Zella

Perhaps it wasn’t the wheelchair that sent Edward Nygma’s mental state spiraling into insanity, nor the solitary confinement of the upper floor, or the loss of his love Isabella. It was the mental alienation, and the forbidding detachment that he was taken aback by.

  
Each day since he left the hospital had grown increasingly worse and worse, both mentally and emotionally. His physicality was sort of getting back up to speed, although the thing about the injuries was that they were material, tangible. They could be fixed, healed proper by machines and natural adaptation. But he could never come back from what had happened mentally and spiritually.

  
His mind was like a desert- barren, parched, decaying. Where there was once an oasis of intelligence and palisade of creativity now lay a cracked and dry canvas; with nothing fertile to build upon and its ground far too stiff to plant new ideas. His memories were like dusty sandstorms; cloudy, foggy, and easy to choke on. Edward Nygma had become a wandering traveler amidst the vast wasteland of a previously thriving nirvana; and this mental famine was far more deadly than any accident could ever be.

  
But even then that wasn’t the worst of it. It was knowing that he was rotting, knowing that he was just sitting there; meaningless, a cripple of a man, an ex-genius who couldn’t even at first remember the name of his dashing criminal persona and not being able to do anything about it. With every passing hour, more years of his life were being taken away, and eventually he would dim and dry out into absolute nothingness, and he had to sit there just waiting for it to finally happen. Ed could feel himself breaking off like a woodpecker at a tree; picking at the bark of his soul and drilling into his mind relentlessly.

  
Although sometimes the silence was nice. It nurtured the dull haze of his echoing thoughts, and after spending so much time in solitude, the loneliness started to embody the voices and melancholy in which his soul had become encased in ;and so ironically, the loneliness itself wasn’t the most significant factor in his depressive isolation.

  
He was playing chess by himself in the library when he suddenly heard the faint hum of a car bumping along the road, crunching up the gravel and snow beneath it like a blender. _Is that Oswald? He’s back quite early_...Ed glanced up at the grandfather clock, which was situated at half past three; normally Oswald was gone for the entire day when out scavenging for Ed’s potential killer. _Well at least I can ask him to buy more toothpaste now instead of at nine PM..._  


  
Ed resumed back to his game of out-strategizing-himself when he began to realize that there was something off about this car. It seemed to chomp the snow rather than roll over it, and the whir of its motor was tremendously raucous and more noticeable compared to the typical Coupe de Ville Cadillac that Oswald was escorted in.

  
Frowning, Ed wheeled over to the bay window and peered outside. A shady onyx caravan was jolting up the glassy pavement, tinted windows and all.

  
A splinter of a memory flashed past Ed’s mind; a blurred image of a lilac engine zooming a thousand miles a minute in front of him; but just as abruptly as it had come, it was gone.

  
Ed studied the mysterious vehicle for another minute before he ventured out into the hallway, booking it to the edge of the stairs. “OLGA!” he bellowed.

  
“Vesgda krichu, malen’kaya sheya karand…” Olga mumbled as she entered the room Ed was stationed in, staring out the window. “Da?” she asked.

  
“There’s a sketchy van outside, would you mind go taking a quick look at it? You don’t have to go up to them, I just want to see if it’s Oswald…” That last part about Oswald was a bit of a lie, but Ed didn’t want to sound like the pompous, entitled house guest that he was.

  
Olga glanced outside at the snow and at the van in question before looking down at her own heels. Well, she certainly wasn’t going outside to break her neck, but it was part of her job to protect the household and those in it.  
She rolled her eyes, heading to the front door and staring out the peephole. A man got out of the van, carrying what looked like a basket. Slowly, she opened the door, cold wind practically smacking her in the face as the van approached.

  
“Delivery for Mr. Nygma?” the man said, holding out a neatly wrapped gift basket.

  
Olga raised a brow. No one has sent Nygma anything besides Mr. Cobblepot who seemed very keen on having fresh flowers always by his bedside. “Da,” she said, accepting the gift basket and nodding her goodbyes to the mailman.

With the slam of the door, she returned to Nygma’s side, observing the gift basket one more time before extending it to him. It didn’t appear dangerous. “Basket for you,” she told him simply, waiting for him to take it before heading back into the kitchen to make dinner preparations.

  
Ed cocked an eyebrow and took the basket over to the library (he tried to avoid his room at all costs now because it made him dampened his spirits), and set it down on the loveseat in front of the fireplace.  


  
The basket was set up like it might be used for a baby shower; three packages wrapped in white-and-gold wrapping paper with fractal spirals patterned atop fluffy Easter grass. A cream-colored note that looked like it popped out of a colonial history textbook was placed in the middle, and Ed half-expected it to say, “CONGRATULATIONS ED! YOU’RE PREGNANT! HERE’S A GENEROUS DONATION FROM YOUR NON-EXISTENT FRIENDS AS A TOKEN OF OUR PAIN BECAUSE YOU HAVE NO INSURANCE AND WAS RECENTLY EVICTED OUT OF YOUR APARTMENT! TAKE CARE!”

  
He shook his head. He had been spending way too much time alone, with the Riddler.

  
Ed tore through the packaging, ending up with some very...eccentric gifts. The donors had been none other than Gotham’s three stooges- Barbara Kean, Tabitha Gallavan, and Butch Gilzean. Each person had given him something, ranging from a “Bahama Breeze” scented candle from Barbara, a plastic bag of rocks from Tabitha, and pink sugar cookies that spelled out “You suck” from Butch.

  
“This is truly delightful. How generous of them.” Ed bit his tongue in irritation. He wasn’t entirely sure if the fiendish trio was teasing him or if they had actually sent the gifts to let them know that they were thinking of him. Either way, the only useful thing in the basket was Barbara’s candle, and Ed had no idea what he was going to do with the rocks or deriding cookies. He chose the one shaped like a K, and bit into it without hesitation, which was an immediate mistake. “PFFFF-” Ed spat it out, wriggling his tongue. “DOESN’T BUTCH KNOW THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN BAKING SODA AND CHALK????” He decided to look at the note instead.

“ _Dearest Eddie,_  
_We are sorry to hear that you got terminated in a hit-and-run. But based on how you were before, we honestly can't say that we're surprised. Guess this is a riddle that's gonna take a while to wrap your head around._  
_Please enjoy this candle that I (Barbara) bought for you, and the other gifts that Tabs and Butch so thoughtfully considered. No givebacks. Also, Ivy is sending something as well. No clue what it is, but when she found us with the gift basket, she insisted that she would give you something as well. Just be aware if it's cologne. Obviously._  
_We wish you a speedy recovery, but honestly, the Riddler's not going to be missed by anyone. Better to lay low for awhile. Whoever hit you was obviously out for your guts._

_Love,_  
_Barbara, Tabitha, and Butch_

_P.S.- Karma's a bitch, huh? Also Butch wants to clarify that he doesn't love you- Tabs and Butch”_

At this point, Ed didn’t have the time nor energy to care about anything that the letter said. Obviously Barbara seemed to be on top of things, but as to why, Ed was dumbfounded. The last of his memories containing her were nothing too pleasant, and he could never recall her being typically close with him. And as far as Tabitha and Butch went, well, they most definitely weren’t his allies either. He wondered what had happened within the years erased by the accident, and if he had actually wound up forming a comrade with any of the three. He would’ve cut off his toe to remember. Anything would be alleviating by now.

* * *

 

Oswald pulled up to the mansion, biding Jim Gordon adieu and giving him quick thanks before waddling up to his front door. He was naturally exhausted after his little adventure with the detective, and wanted nothing more than to take a shower and collapse onto any soft surface he could find.

  
However, he also knew that there was still work to be done. He still had yet to apologize to Ed, and after almost losing his life for the umpteenth time today, he decided that now was better than ever to do so. Stirring around in the back of his mind were also thoughts of confessing to Ed his feelings, but he’d cross that road when he came to it. Ed was still recovering, and he wasn’t sure how such a confession would go. Then again, anything could go better than the last time he did so. He could have sworn that the scar from Ed’s bullet panged at such thoughts.

  
Sighing, Oswald carefully climbed the stairs, trying not to drip everywhere since he was still very, very wet. He thought about calling out to Olga, but really, he didn’t want to deal with her Russian scolding right now. She’d see the mess and clean it when saw it. If anything, she could just scold him at dinner.

  
Going down the long, dark upstairs hall, Oswald noticed the library door cracked open, light slightly invading the hallway. Ignoring the disgusting, disheveled state he was in for a moment, he pushed the door open a little more, spotting Ed in his wheelchair with some sort of basket. “Oh… sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you,” he said, getting ready to retreat and close the door behind him. Suddenly, he no longer felt so confident seeing Ed in his silk, green bathrobe, sunlight dancing along his exposed skin.

  
Ed looked over his shoulder, instantly noticing how much of a bedraggled mess Oswald was. “...did you go have lunch with the pigs today?” he asked blatantly.

  
Oswald quickly looked down at himself, taking in his soaked form with his pants and dress shirt all stained, gloves, suit, and tie all left behind as well as his coat. “Oh, no, I, uh…” Oswald’s words drifted off, thinking back to his and Ed’s argument that had seemed to have started because of the mention of Jeremiah. “I… fell,” he stated, which wasn’t a lie in the slightest. He just left out the part about falling into a swamp after climbing a cathedral that was flowing with molten lead thanks to Jeremiah Valeska.

  
Ed blinked. “You fell.”

  
“Yes,” said Oswald defensively.

  
“Was it into a sewer or a pile of horse poop?”

  
“No, actually, it was a swamp.”

  
Ed’s coolness about the situation immediately broke off. He snorted. “YOU FELL INTO A SWAMP? DOES GOTHAM EVEN _HAVE_ THOSE?”

  
Oswald tried to keep his composure, but couldn’t help the slight upturn of his lips at the sound of Ed’s amusement. It had been awhile since he had seen him like this. “WELL OBVIOUSLY IT DOES BECAUSE I FELL IN ONE!” he responded, chuckling at the sheer ridiculousness of it all.

  
Ed turned his face away, stifling back a walloping laugh but still chortling a bit. Another fragment of a memory suddenly rippled through his brain; this one being of a drenched Oswald Cobblepot picking crabs off of his clothes. Ed frowned, unable to recognize where the memory had come from. There was something off about this one, like it almost never happened, but he was sure that it was semi-real, at least. He couldn’t imagine ever making it up.

  
Oswald took note of Ed’s change in behavior immediately, his lips falling back into a line as he took a step closer to his friend. “Ed… are you alright?” he asked, worried that he had already managed to upset him again somehow.

  
Ed took in a sharp breath, gripping the sides of his wheelchair. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just uh, just nothing. I thought I remembered something, but it’s not that big of a deal.” He waved him off listlessly.

  
“Oh,” Oswald said a bit dumbly, clearing his throat. He knew he should help Ed make more sense of his memories, but that could always come a little later.

  
He let the silence linger between them briefly before finally speaking up again. “Ed… I wanted to apologize for my behaviour the other day,” he began, staring at a copy of Victor Hugo's, ‘Les Miserables’ on a shelf. “I, I know this has all been very hard for you, and I’m afraid that I haven’t been the best… friend.”

  
Ed’s face flushed. He didn’t know why exactly, but he did have to admit to being embarrassed of his actions as well. Even though he was depressed and coping with a tremendous loss, he knew that he was being a jerk to Oswald, and that he only wanted to help. Ed cleared his throat. “I’m uh, I’m sorry too.” He said softly. “I shouldn’t have chucked orange juice on your clothes, or told you to choke on your umbrella.”

  
Oswald chuckled softly at Ed’s last statement, running a hand through his damp, tangled hair. The air was starting to feel a lot heavier now, and Oswald could feel his heart starting to pound in his chest. “Well, perhaps I deserved that,” he admitted, thinking back on all the things he had done to the man before him, and yet… here they were. “I promise to work on my behaviour around you. I… I just want you to be happy again, Ed,” he admitted, lips twitching into a smile.

Suddenly, Ed grew very uncomfortable. A fluttering anxiety arose in his bosom, and felt that another memory was racing towards him, but he couldn’t quite grasp the tip of it. He looked down at his robe, then to Oswald’s rags, and felt his ears start to burn. “Yeah, um, I’ll work on my behavior too.” He blurted out.

“Ed-” Oswald said suddenly without realizing it, stepping forward again. His throat felt tight, the only sound in his ears was the beating of his own heart in his chest. It was driving him mad. This was the most open he and Ed had been for what felt like ages, and he wasn’t sure how long he could keep the feelings he had from spilling out and consuming them both.

Ed instinctually leaned back an inch, tucking in his chin slightly as a turtle-like defense to whatever Oswald was going to do next. He swore that he was having major deja vu, but despite his desperation for his memories back, he was NOT liking this.

The pulsing in Oswald's ears was becoming almost unbearable, giving him the sensation like he was underwater.

Gunshot.

Water.

Blood.

He felt like the room was spinning suddenly, causing him to momentarily have to shut his eyes, taking a deep breath while he inadvertently placed a hand over his stomach where a scar remained under his shirt. “Ed,” he said again, opening his eyes and meeting Ed’s dark brown ones that seemed to pull him in without warning.

All that pain. All that anger. He could remember everything.

He was so glad Ed couldn’t. “Ed, I love you,” the words finally spilled out like water.

Water.

Sinking.

Cold eyes.

He could still taste the blood and salt in the water…

He hardly felt the bullet or the frigid waters. All he could feel was his heart breaking...

His legs moved before he could even fully comprehend what had just happened, sending him out of the library as quick as he could manage, shutting the door behind himself.

Panicking. He was panicking.

He gripped his chest, trying to keep his heart from exploding. It was too much. He had said too much. It was all over. Again.

“You make mess in house!” he heard Olga’s voice call up from downstairs.

“Y- yes, I apologize,” Oswald stammered, trying to keep himself from falling apart. “I’m… going to shower right now,” he promised, pushing himself off the door and stumbling into his room. 

 


	13. Jack Torrance- but with a cowbell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 13 of Gotham: Secret of the Labyrinth 
> 
> This chapter is the definition of that one meme where there's a room on fire and a dog is sitting at a table with a mug in his hand, clearly dead inside and saying "this is fine." 
> 
> So, if this chapter kills you, just remember- this story is written by meme gods. We gotchu.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CAST LIST:   
> Edward NygmAHHHHHHHHHH- Emmaline   
> Oswald Chesterfeels Cobblepot- Zella

Once again, Edward Nygma woke up in the middle of the night, practically suffocating from his spasmodic breathing. He was snapped out of his sleep by the feeling that someone was choking him, wringing his neck with an iron fist and stomping on his lungs. He flung out his arms like a chicken, reaching around the oxygen mask to pull it off and just barely doing it in time.

  
Ed gulped for air like he was naked in outer space, his body convulsing dramatically from his hyperventilation. He ran a shaky hand through his sweaty hair, tossing his arm out and slamming off the oxygen concentrator. _Screw what the doctor said_ , Ed though, _I'm_ _on the verge of a heart attack_.

  
He lay in the bed for a moment, wheezing and staring up at the ceiling, recounting everything that had happened a little over eight hours ago. At first, when Oswald confessed to Ed that he loved him, Ed didn’t think that much of it; just a congenial, mutual expression from friend to friend to apologize for their petty fights and because he felt sentimental about the whole accident ordeal. But as time wore on, old feelings resurfaced, and Ed started to become more and more aware of the fact that maybe he had overlooked it, and Oswald was, in fact, romantically in love with him.

  
It would certainly explain all his needy behavior, of course. Ed admitted that Oswald had been a little too generous concerning the accident, taking Ed back to his own home and caring for him and giving him a room. Not that that was _too_ outlandish though; apparently waking up from his amnesia, Ed learned that he had been evicted from his apartment within the first twenty-four hours of the accident for ‘not paying his rent on time’. Even with that though, Oswald having green clothes specifically tailored for the man, and insisting that they eat gourmet breakfast together every single day was a bit...obsessive. Before, Ed was so caught up in his rumination and self pity that he hadn’t bothered to look at how other people might have thought or felt, but now that he had had a few days to mull over it, he saw the signs of Oswald’s love clearer than night and day.

  
Nonplussed and furious, Ed jumped into his wheelchair, the adrenaline in his veins too strong to give a damn about being careful with his cast, and stormed out the door (well, as much as anyone in a wheelchair can).

  
He zoomed right up to Oswald’s room, banging on the wall for a moment before reaching into the hall closet and grabbing a cowbell; ringing the metal object out of his childish impatience.

  
Oswald jolted in his bed, knocking the bottle of vodka he had apparently been sleeping with onto the floor. Thankfully, he had been conscious enough to have closed it before nodding off.

  
“OLGA, WHAT THE HELL?” he shouted, still half-asleep as he sat up and grabbed his bathrobe, the sound of a cowbell, of all things, filling his ears.

  
He stood up, wrapping the black and gold robe around himself that he had gotten from his father, and swung open the door. “WHAT THE HELL DO YOU-” He stopped when he saw that it was Ed causing this raucous noise, jeopardizing everyone's sleep in the house. 

  
Oswald felt his throat go dry. For the past few hours, he had purposefully avoided Ed, and had planned on continuing to do so for as long as he could. Apparently, however, fate had different plans for him.

  
“OSWALD! I, DEMAND, TO SPEAK, WITH YOU!” Ed huffed, every unsupported breath egging on the heart attack.

  
Oswald’s heart was racing once again, and he swore he was going to end up having a heart attack for the morning came. “I- I’d rather not!” he said quickly before shutting his door, thumping his forehead against it and holding it shut with his hands.

  
“-HEY!” Ed was sizzling. “NO! YOU CAN’T JUST DROP A BOMB ON ME LIKE THAT AND THEN WALK AWAY! YOU COWARD!” Ed took the cowbell and repeatedly bashed it against the door like Brutus’s knife to Julius Caesar. 

Oswald squeezed his eyes shut, banging his fists once against the door himself. Yes, he was a coward, but he had the right to be. The last time he had admitted his feelings got a bullet in his gut and his heart torn apart. “DAMMIT ED, WHAT ELSE WAS I SUPPOSED TO DO?” he shouted back out of fear and frustration.

  
“I DON’T KNOW! ANYTHING BUT THAT!” Ed raised his arm once more to beat down the door, but hesitated, taking a moment to catch his breath. “YOU COULD AT LEAST EXPLAIN YOURSELF!”

  
Oswald growled, throwing open the door once more. Ed didn’t understand. He didn’t know what it was like. He had no idea what they’d been through. “EXPLAIN WHAT, ED? EXPLAIN THAT YOU’RE THE GREATEST FRIEND I’VE EVER HAD? THAT I- I’VE LOVED YOU FOR YEARS AND IT KILLS ME EVERY DAY, ESPECIALLY WHEN I SEE YOU LIKE THIS!” he threw out, gesturing at Ed’s current condition. “EXPLAIN HOW I CAN’T STOP THINKING ABOUT YOU NO MATTER HOW HARD I TRY? THAT I WOULD BEND OVER BACKWARDS FOR YOU IN A HEARTBEAT? I CAN’T EXPLAIN IT, ED, BUT IT’S TRUE-”

  
Ed squeezed his eyes shut. “ENOUUGH! SHUT UP! SHUT _UUUUUUP!_ ” His chest rose and fell so dramatically that the edges of his robe concealing his chest started to fall. “WAIT-” he pointed a finger in Oswald’s face. “Did you say, _years_???” His voice suddenly dropped, his tone shifting to a stern quietness in the wake of his volcanic anger.

  
“YES ED,” Oswald choked out, his emotions literally shaking him, licking his dry lips at the sight of Ed’s bared skin. “... years,” he confirmed, the word almost catching in his throat, causing him to whisper.

  
At first, Ed couldn’t respond. He just sat there, staring at Oswald with utter anguish and disbelief, and suddenly, a new element in the hurricane of emotions that night- betrayal. “ _How_ DARE YOU! HOW DARE YOU NOT TELL ME HOW LONG I LOST MY MEMORY! WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME FROM THE VERY _FIRST SECOND_ , HOW LONG IT HAD BEEN! HOW DARE YOU WITHHOLD THAT INFORMATION FROM ME!” He abruptly snatched the collar of Oswald’s robe, yanking his face closer to his until they were breathing the same exact air. “EXACTLY HOW LONG HAS IT BEEN?”

  
Oswald gasped at their sudden proximity, finding it ever harder to speak now than it had been before. Ed was so upset, and Oswald knew nothing good would come from admitting his feelings. Nothing ever good seemed to come from the truth. “T- two years that I’ve loved you,” Oswald clarified. “But you’ve only lost one year of your memories,” he added, hoping that would be enough to calm Ed down a bit. “But I- I swear I’ll help you get your memories back, Ed. I’ll do anything,” he swore, clutching at Ed’s hands on his robe. “I’m sorry I’ve been such a coward, Ed. I’ll do anything to make it up to you. Anything…”

  
Slowly, Ed’s hands loosened the grip on Oswald’s robe, and they dropped down limply into his lap. Ed’s lips twitched, and he searched for words to encompass how he felt, but there was nothing to describe what he had just gone through in the last five minutes. He found that tears started to well up in his eyes, and he couldn’t even remember the last time that he cried. He turned his face away again, lightly pushing Oswald back into his room.

It broke Oswald’s heart all over again to see Ed in such a state. The last time he had seen Ed cry was… after Isabella. “Ed…” he breathed, feeling moisture in his own eyes. “Please, just… say something,” he begged quietly, reminding him of a similar request at the docks before he was dumped into the river.

  
Ed swallowed, fighting back mucus and tears. He shook his head, not trusting himself to be able to speak without his voice wavering.

  
“Ed…” Oswald repeated, hesitantly reaching out to the other man. “Please, I-” His hand grazed Ed’s cheek, feeling how warm and soft it was. He repressed a shudder. He hadn’t meant to actually touch him.  
Suddenly, he was overcome with pure need, wanting to touch him again. Without really thinking, he took Ed’s face in both hands, carefully turning it to face him. He held his breath as he leaned down, capturing Ed’s lips with his own, clinging to him like his life depended on it while his heart threatened to burst.

  
The kiss felt like a thousand bolts of electricity had suddenly brought Ed back to life, surging through his veins and rejuvenating him with a weightless, bodiless feeling. He felt like he could torch everything to the ground and run, that he was unchained, that he was immortal. There were a million things that Ed Nygma wanted to do in that moment, but as soon as Oswald released the kiss, his critical side jerked everything back to reality, spoiling the moment. He watched his hand reach up and strike Oswald right across the cheek, a deafening _PWACK_! cutting through the dense air.

  
Oswald let out a cry as his head jerked to the side, his cheek abruptly stinging as he caught himself on the door frame. And just like that, the moment and everything he had ever wanted was over. Now his body felt aflame with something other than desire.

  
Ed had slapped him…

  
“WHAT THE HELL?!” he asked, but he knew. He knew he had went too far. He knew he had overstepped, but for a brief moment, he could have sworn that that was what Ed had wanted as well. Perhaps he had just been delusional. Now any chances of getting Ed back seemed ruined in an instant. He shouldn’t have told the truth.

  
When Ed first opened his mouth to speak, spit dribbled out onto his leg, so he licked his lips and took another minute before smashing Oswald Cobblepot’s heart with a sledgehammer. “That...that was-” he swallowed once more, gathering his strength and looking Oswald dead in the eye. “Do not _ever_ do that again. Do you hear me?” His fists trembled, he hoped it came across as anger and not excitement.

  
“Yes…” Oswald whispered, holding back a sob as his fingers touched his burning cheek. “Ed, I’m- I’m sorry…” he tried, gripping the frame of the door so tightly that his knuckles were turning white.

  
“DO NOT SAY ANOTHER WORD!” A tear slipped from the corner of Ed’s eye, but he managed to brush it away quick enough to go unnoticed. “Do...not...EVER...speak...to...me...again.” Crestfallen and humiliated, Ed couldn’t bear to look at the pure torment and pain on Oswald’s face again, so he pushed against the walls to rotate the wheelchair back around and headed off to his room. He accidentally ran over the cowbell, which caused him to jump up, and for the front of his robe to slip down even more, but thankfully Oswald didn’t see that or else Ed wasn’t sure he would be making it back to his room alone.

  
Once Ed was out of sight, Oswald let himself go, letting out a sob as he held onto the door for support, shaking with anguish. He had been such a fool, and now hopes of being with Ed in any sort of capacity seemed highly unlikely, even with them living under the same roof. He had messed up, and now Ed didn’t even want him to _speak_ to him.

Maybe he was wrong. Maybe this was worse than before. Now he had to continue seeing Ed and caring for him somehow without upsetting him. Chances were, he’d have to get Olga to check on him and help him now. Ed didn’t want to be near him, and he could understand why even though every fiber of his being was begging him to go after him and pull him close once more.

  
It was all over now. This time, for certain, and he’d just have to accept that. Ed was never going to care for him in the same way he did, and that was just going to have to be his cross to bear.   
Oswald wiped his tears away with the sleeve of his robe, slamming the door to his room and falling onto his bed, his leg protesting at the force of it all. Slowly, he reached down and grabbed the bottle of vodka that had fallen from before, unscrewing the lid and tossing it aside. He gulped a large amount down, the burn reminding him of his cheek. He let his head fall against the headboard, more tears sliding across his cheeks.

  
Well, so much for happy endings.


	14. Gossip Central Police Department

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 14 of Gotham: Secret of the Labyrinth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CAST LIST:  
> Jim Gordon- Emmaline  
> Harvey Bullock- Zella
> 
> PLEASE STAY TUNED FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER! I PROMISE YOU WILL LOVE IT! IT'S ONE OF EMMALINE'S FAVORITES! <3

At first, Jim Gordon thought he was hallucinating, but after listening to the message that Oswald Cobblepot had left him at 3:13 in the morning fifty times over, he was finally able to accept the reality that he had been thrown into.

Splashing water on his hot face, Jim wiped his hands on a dirty sock in the men’s locker room since he didn’t the energy to reach for a towel, and walked like a zombie over to Harvey Bullock’s desk. “Harvey…” he croaked.

  
Harvey was discussing the latest flavor of sub at the Subway down the street with Alvarez when Jim came over, looking like he wanted to blow his brains out with his own gun. “What happened to you?” he asked, turning away from Alvarez.

  
Jim blinked slowly, his eyelids feeling like they had paperweights on them. “Everything. Everything happened to me Harvey.”

  
“Uh, alright…” said Harvey slowly, Alvarez leaving to return to his desk after seeing that their conversation was obviously over. “Care to elaborate there, partner?”

  
Jim shook his head, slipping his Blackberry out of his pants pocket and slapping it down on Harvey’s palm. “Cobblepot drunk called me at three in the morning last night, giving me vivid, Shakespearean descriptions of his...encounter with Nygma last night.”

  
“Wait, what?” Harvey asked, unlocking Jim’s Blackberry (Jim was, without a doubt, the jock of the GCPD) and going to Jim’s voicemails. “Hold on, he didn’t finally _sleep_ with him, did he? Because I just ate and I’d rather _not_ hear about that right now…”

  
Jim scrunched up his face. “No, not yet anyway. But they sort of...uh...went there-” He waved his hand dismissively, the fuzzy knot in his stomach tightening up again. “You know what just listen to the message; I don’t want to explain it word-for-word, okay?”

  
Harvey quirked a brow. “Uh, okay.” He hit play on the voice message, listening carefully as a drunk Oswald graphically described his… interesting evening with Nygma. “Woah, woah, wait, they kissed?” Harvey asked before listening on.

  
Suddenly, he leaned back, bellowing out with laughter. “NYGMA SLAPPED HIM? Oh Jim, this is priceless!” he said, tears coming to his eyes do to the force of his own laughter, a few officers below them turning their heads to look at him.

  
Jim looked at Harvey offensively. “You think this is FUNNY?” He grabbed Harvey by the collar. “THIS IS NOT FUNNY HARVEY, THIS IS A NIGHTMARE! I HAVE TO DEAL WITH THIS NOW! COBBLEPOT DRUNK CALLED _ME_ , NOT YOU, AND WE’RE WORKING TOGETHER TO FIND OUT WHO HURT ED; NOW _I_ HAVE TO LISTEN TO ALL PENGUIN’S WOES AND LAMENTS ABOUT HIS ‘TRAGIC’ LOVE-LIFE-”

  
“Jim, Jim, woah! Relax!” Harvey insisted, holding up his hands. “Penguin was drunk! He probably doesn’t even remember calling you!” he suggested hopefully. “Besides, weren’t you going to have to listen to his woes and lamb… lamp… whatever you said anyways?” he chuckled, adjusting his hat.

  
Jim suddenly realized what he was doing, having a brief flashback of the Tetch Virus. He let go of Harvey abruptly, rubbing his hands over his temple. “God Harvey, I don’t know. All I know is that I don’t want to see either of them anytime soon.” 

“That’s fair, I guess,” Harvey mused, sliding Jim’s phone into his suit pocket. “But you know Penguin ain’t gonna let you off the hook anytime soon until you find whatever whack job hit Nygma.”

  
Jim plopped down in Harvey’s chair, his body impacting the seat so much that the wheels slid back a few feet. He drifted over to the trash can. “This...this is the last straw. First, Oswald comes to me complaining about how Nygma got nailed in a hit-and-run, then he practically forces me into joining him on a wild goose chase to track the criminal down, then we wind up going to some creepy church with Jeremiah Valeska and barely make out alive by jumping into a swamp, and now THIS?” He whipped out his Blackberry and pitched it with a satisfying _plink_! in the trash. “I’m done Harvey. My golden days at the GCPD are over.”

  
Harvey laughed once more, sitting on the edge of his desk. “Honestly brother, I’m surprised you held out for this long,” he admitted. “Why don’t you just give the case to someone else? I’m sure Montoya and Allen at the MCU would eat something like this up. Former Chief of Staff involved in a hit-and-run and having some kind of weird scandal with the former mayor.”

  
“No.” Jim stared off into the distance dramatically. “I have to do this. I either have to go through with the case, or tell Cobblepot myself that I’m done.”

  
“Alright, well, uh, just let me know how it goes,” said Harvey, refraining from rolling his eyes. Jim was such a Golden Boy. He knew that Jim wouldn’t be able to just walk away. He never could. Really, he was just grateful to no longer be involved in the whole thing. Captain Crunch had graciously given him his own case to work on just so he could avoid Oswald’s.

  
Jim straightened out his tie and leapt to his feet, crushing a spider underneath his shoe. He looked Harvey straight in the eye, giving him a solemn nod. “Thank you Harvey. This talk has been very helpful.” He patted him over the heart and then stormed off, the tail of his suit jacket swishing like a flag as he ran out of the building.

  
Harvey blinked, falling down into his chair and scratching his head. “What the hell just happened?” he asked himself, the doors of the GCPD closing with a pronounced swoosh! He didn’t get paid enough for all of this.

* * *

 

Things hadn’t improved much over the last couple of days in Oswald’s life. Most of what he had been doing was avoiding Ed at all costs and trying to drink away his problems. Olga had noticed and tried to talk to him a few times before being promptly told to leave. He was also pretty certain that he had accidently called a particular GCPD detective and spilled his guts to him.

  
How embarrassing.

  
Oswald stepped out into the upstairs hallway after getting ready for the day, vowing to not ruin yet _another_ suit no matter what the cost. He straightened his suit, picking off a non-existent piece of lint from his shoulder.  
His eyes landed on something strange down the hall at Ed’s door. Slowly and as quietly as he could manage, he limped down the hall, glaring at the object at his forbidden lover’s door. It was a basket.

  
_What the hell_?

  
He leaned down, grabbing the unusual basket and taking a peek inside. He raised his brow at the odd assortment of items he found inside, gently lifting the bag of what appeared to be plastic rocks, of all things. He also found a plate of cookies that spelled “You suc” and a scented candle.

  
Oswald grabbed the candle, a piece of cardstock falling to the ground and catching his attention. He snatched it up, reading it unhurriedly.

  
_Wait, Barbara and her band of morons sent this? Well, at least that explained the misspelling of “suck.” Of course Butch didn’t know how to spell, that idiotic, overweight gorilla._

  
He rolled his eyes, setting the note and basket back down at Ed’s door, needing to hurry downstairs before he was caught red-handed.

  
Oswald was about halfway down the grand staircase before he was hit by the sudden memory of something Jeremiah had said to him. He had told him to start with the people who Ed hurt before when it came to leads… If anyone who had been subject to the Riddler and his schemes would still be after him, it would be Barbara and her two last brain cells.

  
He whipped out his phone, continuing down the stairs as he prepared to call Jim to tell him his new lead. When he saw those three imbeciles, he was going to put a bullet through each of their-

  
Just then, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Jim Gordon, the man himself, falling flat on his face and bumping his head on an icicle at his doorstep. “Oh… well that’s convenient…” 

Jim struggled to stand back up again, every attempt to gain sure footing resulting in an epic game of slip-n-slide. He knocked his head back on the rails twice more as he tried to heave himself up over the stairs, where he had bumped his forehead on an icicle. The eaves were littered with them, and when he finally managed to haul his torso over the rail, a spiral-shaped one plonked down on his noggin. “OW! DAMNIT OSWALD, GET OVER HERE AND LET ME IN I CAN SEE YOU LAUGHING AT ME!”

  
Oswald continued to laugh at the detective’s misfortunes, grabbing his cane at the front door before opening his house to the cold. He stuck his cane out to Jim, smirking. “Here you go, Jim. I think you need this more than me,” he teased, flashing his teeth.

  
“Ha ha,” Jim gritted sarcastically, grappling the cane and using it to glide over to the entryway. He scuffed his boots on the doormat before shutting the door with a resonating _bang_!, causing Oswald to jump a little.

  
“I was actually just about to call you, Jim,” Oswald admitted, taking his cane back from the man and setting it aside. “I have a lead on Ed’s case,” he divulged, gesturing for Jim to wipe his feet on the doormat.

  
“Oh, really?” Jim asked, pretending to care. “Because the whole reason I came over here in the first place was to tell you that I’m done with the case.”

  
Oswald laughed venomously, adjusting his tie. “Well I think you’ll change your mind once you hear who the lead is…” he grinned, knowing it was only a matter of time until Jim would want to throw in the towel. He didn’t blame him either after their last little adventure.

  
Jim shoved his hands in his pants, his heart immediately starting to palpitate in his chest. _Oh no._..Jim sat down on a silk ottoman, his butt sinking into the cushion. “...who is it,” he queried, already knowing the answer.

  
"Barbara Kean and her band of bozos.”

  
“...you mean Tabitha and Butch.”

“Do you even need to ask?” Oswald sighed, grabbing his coat from the coat rack and jerking his arms through the sleeves. “Come on, you’re driving,” he insisted, wrapping his scarf firmly around his neck.

  
Jim rolled his eyes, not wanting to get up after the whole incident outside and the comfort of his butt in the silk. “Well what if I just don’t?”

  
Oswald scoffed, his body sagging briefly in exhaustion of the situation. Really? Jim was resorting to this? Fine.

  
He reached into his suit pocket, pulling out his pistol and cocking it as he pointed it right between Jim’s eyes. “Then I’ll shoot you,” he threatened with a curve of his lips. “Now hurry up. I don’t have all day.” 


	15. Bahama Burn My House Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 15 of Gotham: Secret of the Labyrinth 
> 
> OH JOY THIS ONE IS A WILD RIDE. IT'S PRETTY HOT.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CAST LIST:   
> Edward Nygma & the Riddler- Emmaline

“Wow. It’s like he’s obsessed with you or something-”

“Shh. You’re not any better.”

The Riddler rolled his eyes in disgust. “Seriously, it’s been over a week and a half and Oswald is _still_ trying to find who mowed you over? Birdbrain just needs to let it go-”

“I SAID SHHH!!!” Ed scowled as he peeped out from the tailored pleat curtains in his room, eagle eyeing Oswald and Jim as they creeped over the vast ocean of ice and snow that carpeted the front yard of the Van Dahl Mansion. The dynamic duo was trying so desperately hard to not slip and fall over that if Ed didn’t know who they were, he would’ve thought that they were a couple drunks pretending to walk over a landmine.

The Riddler gave a low, gravelly chuckle. “Look at them. They’re so stupid.”

“Yeah well at least they can _walk_. I can’t even stand up without needing crutches.”

“Ugh, stop complaining already. Just make fun of them, heck, video-tape them and then broadcast it on the news the next time Oswald kisses you-”

“WE DO NOT SPEAK OF THAT, OKAY!!!”

The Riddler shrugged in defense, leaning back against a rustic bookcase. “Whatever you say. But you can’t stop yourself from thinking-”

Ed picked up the bag of rocks that Tabitha gave him and chucked it at the Riddler.

“-OWWWW!” He rubbed his shoulder. “You’re gonna wake up with a HUGE bruise tomorrow-”

“Forget this,” Ed pulled the strings of his robe tighter together and propelled his wheelchair back to the bed, clambering into the sheets and tucking up with an encyclopedia of the history of mandolins.

  
After a while, Ed started to get bored, and so he looked at Barbara’s gift basket to see if there was anything left that could possibly be entertaining or useful. The same old gifts still remained, minus the bag of rocks, so Ed decided to light the candle, curious to know as what a ‘Bahama Breeze’ smelled like.

  
He absentmindedly set the candle on the nightstand, next to the oxygen concentrator. As the Carribean-like smells into his nostrils, his mind unwillingly reflected back on the past week, the traumatic events reeling like a stop motion animation. A lilac engine speeding towards him faster than light itself, waking up in the hospital reciting slam poetry about the importance of beeswax, drifting in and out of sleep with unsettling dreams about deathly feuds with Oswald (including the reoccurring one of holding him at gunpoint), undergoing multiple surgeries, learning that he had been coincidentally evicted out of his apartment for ‘not paying his rent on time’ and having to live in the Van Dahl Mansion, and all the crazy soap opera drama since then. Oswald’s confession of love especially rocked his world, and after everything that had happened to Ed mentally, physically, and emotionally, he just couldn’t take it anymore.

  
All of a sudden Ed found himself staggeringly overwhelmed, and began to hyperventilate once more. His hands flopped around for the oxygen mask, first knocking it underneath the bed but miraculously managing to recover it without passing out first. He threw it over his face, consuming the sweet air like it was a cool glass of water. The brisk, revitalizing substance helped calm down his senses, allowing his muscles to soften and body to relax a little. Ed sat on the edge of his wheelchair for the next five minutes, inhaling and exhaling to a somewhat steady rhythm. However, he was still afraid that the anxiety would eat him alive, and so he decided to go take a bath. Besides, he needed to get out of that stuffy bedroom he had been restricted to for days on end. 

Resting the mask down on the bed, Ed languidly wheeled himself out of the room, and down the hall to the bathroom. He managed to stand up a bit, quavering, and propped himself against the marble counter so that he could move the transfer bench for his wheelchair into the bathtub. After doing so, he turned on the water, and waited somberly for the tub to fill up.

  
Ed spent the next half hour in the tub, mulling over his new life and hopelessly latching out to any lost memories that would magically show up. None did.

  
He drained the tub and threw on a towel, tousling up his wet hair and combing through it lightly with a fine tooth comb. He sighed, attempting to style it like a suave Brazilian blowout model, but failed miserably.

  
Rolling his eyes, Ed changed into his robe and then sat back down in the wheelchair, switching off the light and cruising back out into the hallway.

  
As Ed rambled up to the bedroom door, however, he noticed that it got increasingly hotter as he neared the destination. He thought he heard some crackling and popping too, and frowned, perplexed. Honestly, if his brain were making it up, he wouldn’t be surprised. There had never been a better time to go crazy.

  
Ed placed his hand on the doorknob, and jerked up in shock. “OWWWWW!” He massaged his hand, the skin reddened and tender. _What the_ …

  
Ed tucked his fingers inside of his robe and opened the door, being met by a behemoth wall of fire. “WHAT THE HELL-”

  
Ed grabbed the sides of the wheelchair and sprung back frantically; nearly falling out from pure panic. A sweltering conflagration had seemed to have swallowed up his room while he was in the bathtub, and was now swarming the hallway, spreading rapidly to everything it could devour in its raging wake; catching onto paintings, rugs, tassel lamps. It even began to melt candles-

  
_OH GOD, THE CANDLE_ \- 

Ed whacked his forehead. _HOW STUPID COULD I POSSIBLY BE?! I LIT BARBARA’S CANDLE AND SET IT DOWN RIGHT NEXT TO THE DAMN OXYGEN CONCENTRATOR WHILE IT WAS STILL ON; OF COURSE I DID_! He laughed. _ONLY ED NYGMA WOULD DO SUCH A THING! YOU WITHERING IDIOT!_

  
Ed laughed some more but the jittery chuckles quickly turned into screams, as the tip of his robe was licked by a swaying flame.

  
“AHHHHHH-” Instinctually, Ed fled the wheelchair for the floor, meaning to stop, drop, and roll, but not thinking the act all the way through. His cast prevented him from doing so effectively and in quick time, and a bolt of pain seared through his broken leg. He cried out some more, crawling like a madman towards the bathroom and shoving over the hamper, retrieving the wet towel and using it to quelch his burning robe. He then heaved himself up onto the counter, searching desperately for a bucket or cup that he could use to extinguish the tempest in the hallway.

  
“DAMNIT! THERE HAS TO BE SOMETHING IN HERE THAT I CAN USE-” He tossed a bath bomb over his head hopelessly, seizing a can of shaving cream instead. He sighed. “Well, this is going to have to do for now.”

  
He lowered himself down to the ground again, managing to hop out of the bathroom to find himself at another dead end. Although the fire hadn’t consumed the entire hallway yet, it was vigorous and ungovernable, and had already effected far too much. Every piece of furniture was ablaze, every fly on the wall incinerated, and every wood panel beginning to burn through.

  
Ed huffed. “THIS IS CRAZY!!!” He jigged over to the wheelchair, praying to the earth itself that he didn’t get torched down. The heat was already beginning to cause him to sweat substantially, and he could feel his bare skin start to roast just by being in the close proximity that he was to the fire. “‘BAHAMA BREEZE’ MORE LIKE BAHAMA BURN MY HOUSE DOWN!” 

Ed scrambled into the wheelchair, nearly knocking it over, and scooched over to the edge of the stairs, a grandfather clock falling over and smashing to pieces behind him. “OLGAAA!” He roared, trying to compete with the beastly fire. “OLGAAAAAA!” Suddenly, he became disturbingly afraid. “HELP! SOMEONE! ANYONE! I’M STUCK UP HERE; THIS IS ED NYGMA! HELLO!!!”

  
Sheer terror coursed through his veins, the thought of burning alive racing through his mind. _IT HASN’T EVEN BEEN TWO WEEKS AND I’VE ALREADY ALMOST DIED TWICE; HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE?!_

  
He yelped, a mini explosion sprouting at the far end of the hallway; Ed suspecting that the fire had reached the medicine cabinet and combined with some rubbing alcohol.

  
His lip trembled. He pounded on the wall, his stress gnawing at him like a lion feasting on a freshly slaughtered carcass. “HELP! ANYONE! CAN YOU HEAR ME!” His voice grew hoarse, the smokiness and acidity of the fire wearing out on his lungs. “SOMEONE! PLEASE!”

  
After a few minutes, Ed gripped his hair in frustration, his vicinity to the fire growing smaller and smaller by the minute. “AH!” He growled.

“SCREW IT!” Ed ditched the wheelchair, draping his body over the stair railing and beginning to slide down it. It was awkward, and he couldn’t find proper footing, but Ed embarked from the second floor, feeling grateful that Oswald hadn’t given him a room on the third.

  
A couple feet before Ed reached the bottom, his sweaty hands lost grip on the rail, and he tumbled over the side, dangling by his cast. “AHHHHHHHH!” His world flipped upside down, the fire directly in his line of vision from above. He thrashed his arms about, attempting to find a firm hold again but only causing his body to shake back and forth; and he plummeted into a fiddle leaf fig.

  
Ed cried out yet once again, farcically fed up with his whole existence. He batted his way out of the tree, collapsing onto the slate floor. His jaw quivered, but yet Ed prevailed, clasping one of Oswald’s umbrellas from the rack and using it to pull himself up. He snagged another one and turned them into crutches, hobbling through the halls as the fire crawled down the staircase.

  
Ed noticed that the whole mansion had been abandoned, not a soul left throughout the entire lower floor. He wondered how anyone knew about the fire, but his disconcerment was quickly overrode with fury. How dare they leave him to die! Did anyone care about him? What had he done that was so revolting that all of Oswald’s men would ditch him and run to the hills? 

Ed wiped his damp forehead, coughing dramatically. Eventually, he made it to the entryway, but to his bad luck, the fire erupted once more; blowing out everything in a range of thirty feet. Ed zipped straight through the wooden walls, thrown out mercilessly into the forbidding nature of the snow.

  
He landed on top of a well, every bone in his body aching from head to toe. He finally gave in and began to sob, more from pure, utter shock than anything else; although he supposed that the magnitude of all his built up emotions could be accounted for too.

  
Ed lifted himself up a couple inches, and turned around to watch the mansion crumble like a sandcastle being washed away by water- except in this case, an ammoniac, juggernaut firestorm.

  
After five minutes or so, the full throttle of his emotions and monumental exhaustion took hold of his body, and he passed out, underneath a charcoal sky.


	16. Club of Death Reprise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 16 of Gotham: Secret of the Labyrinth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, apologies for not uploading sooner- Zella and I are both busy people right now and these take me twenty minutes-half an hour to upload as I transfer them from another software, but yee
> 
> CAST LIST:   
> Barbara Kean- Emmaline   
> Jim Gordon- Emmaline   
> Oswald Cobblepot- Zella   
> Butch Gilzean- Zella   
> Tabitha Galavan- Zella

As they once again found themselves pulling up to the infamous Siren’s Club, Oswald couldn’t help but glare at the building that used to be his in disgust. Honestly, it wouldn’t be so bad if literally anyone else was running the place, but it just had to be Barbara, the woman who stabbed his mother, and their pet gorilla.

  
With his cane by his side and his spare pistol (since Valeska had so rudely tossed his off the bell tower) concealed, he straightened his tie and prepared for what was more than likely to be one of the most painful conversations of his life. The only way it could end up being pleasant was if they were all killed swiftly. Or, well, arrested if Jim intervene too much.

  
“Let’s hurry up and get this over with, shall we?” Oswald suggested, pulling his forest green gloves that reminded him a bit too much of Ed more firmly onto his hands. “I think we both know that this bunch is the most likely of suspects after everything we have endured.”

  
Jim shrugged. “I don’t know, Oswald. Barbara’s pretty unpredictable, but this?” He shook his head and pointed in the direction of Fifth Avenue. “Not her style.”

  
Oswald rolled his eyes, drumming his fingers against the car door handle. “Yes, but it is that oversized, dimwitted sack of meat’s style,” he said referring to Butch, watching the snow gently fall outside. “He never was one for creativity.”

  
Jim turned off the engine, shoving his keys into the void of his pants pocket and kicking open the door. “You know, come to think of it, nailing Nygma in a hit-and-run is actually something that _you_ would do, considering all things Isabella and such.” He commented apathetically.

  
Oswald raised his brows in disbelief, clenching his jaw as annoyance overcame him. Really, did Jim even think before he spoke sometimes? “So what, I told one of my men to get a truck and run Ed down for _what_? Just to have him back? I think there would have been _much_ better ways to go about that, if that were the case,” said Oswald, following Jim out of the car and slamming the door behind him.

  
“I mean, I haven’t yet interrogated you. How do I know that you didn’t make all of this up?” Jim teased a little. “I’m a cop Oswald, I have every right to be suspicious of you.” He slogged up to the marble doors and wrapped his hand around the brass bar.

  
Oswald sighed, leaning on his cane as he tread through the snow. “You can interrogate me if you wish, Jim, but I have an alibi and plenty of witnesses. Plus, again, if I wanted Ed back, I would have found a better way to do so. Preferably, one that involved less medical bills to pay,” he stated, grabbing the other door and starting to pull it open. “I could go on, Jim, but if you were going to interrogate me, I’d rather not have to do it right now.”

  
“Glad we’re on the same page with that, at least.” Jim grunted as he swung open the doors, his hands instantly rubbing over his biceps as he entered the warmth of the Sirens Club.

* * *

 

Barbara Kean strutted around the bar in the main lounge of the Sirens Club, her Louboutin heels click-clacking against the obsidian tile as she ranted about the ‘lousiness’ that the clean-up crew had been displaying this past week. “Look, I don’t care if it has been snowing like the apocalypse for the past ten days outside; you guys should _still_ be here every damn day from three to six, _that’s only three hours!,_ wiping down my leather seats, and sweeping up broken bottles of booze off the floor, and spraying down the bathroom when it smells like vomit." She enunciated her consonants through the grit of her teeth. "There is absolutely _no_ excuse that is going to fly with me, or the rest of the Sirens, while you are under contract, HAVE I MADE MYSELF CLEAR GENTLEMEN?”

  
The clean up crew nodded warily.

  
Barbara smiled maliciously. “Good. Then grab your toilet plungers, and your Lysol wipes, and GET ON IT! THIS LOUNGE WON’T CLEAN ITSELF!”

  
The clean up crew scattered like mice, hurrying off to their designated places to polish up the club.

  
Butch finished his shot of whiskey at the bar, ignoring most of Barbara’s rant. He had grown used to her screaming and complaining by now. It kind of just sounded like a shrill, white noise to him at this point. “Relax, it’s not like we’ve had much business lately with all this snow,” he muttered, setting his empty glass aside.

  
Tabitha exhaled, placing a hand on Barbara’s arm from where she stood beside her. “Maybe we should think of rehiring,” she suggested, ignoring Butch’s mumbling behind them. “I don’t think those men have even one brain cell to split between them.”

  
Barbara scoffed, placing her hands on her hips and double checking over her shoulder to make sure that the men were off to their duties. “I honestly don’t think it matters at this point. As much as I hate to admit it, Butch is right, we haven’t been getting as much business as we used to.” She picked at a ketchup stain on the bar faucet with a fake nail. “But you know. Business can’t be booming all the time.”

  
“As I recall,” Oswald began, pulling back the thick, red curtain leading into the main lounge. It was still strange to see everything back to the original color scheme that Barbara had chosen rather than his sleek blacks and blues. “Business was always flourishing when I was in charge,” he said with a wicked grin, stepping aside for Jim to enter.

Butch leapt up from the bar, moving surprising quick as he pulled out his gun, aiming it right between an unfazed Oswald’s eyes.

  
Barbara’s head snapped up; her penetrating, icy eyes blazing with fire. “What are you two doing here?” she fussed.

  
Tabitha gripped her whip on her side, ready to move if Oswald tried anything.

  
Oswald expressed his exasperation with another eye-roll, his hands resting on the head of the penguin that both adorned his cane and secured his knife. “I think you know very well why we’re here,” he accused, tapping his foot once. “Put the gun away, Butch. You might lose an eye,” he jeered with a smirk.

  
“Shut up, freak!” Butch bit back, keeping his aim in place.

  
Jim waved his hand apprehensively. “Hello, Barbara.”

  
Barbara sneered at Jim, ignoring Oswald for the time being. “Jim. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  
Jim shuffled his feet, not yet wanting to enter the bar area. The curtain was a lot more comfy, and frankly safe, than what was ten feet ahead of him. “Oswald and I have some questions for you and your...entourage, regarding Ed Nygma.”

  
“Nygma?” Butch repeated, laughing as he finally lowered his gun. “Really? We just got through sending the guy a gift basket, can’t we-”

  
“Butch, hush,” said Tabitha, looking a bit put-out. “What about Nygma?” she asked, crossing her arms in front of her.

  
“Oh please, don’t feign ignorance. You know-” Oswald cut himself off, looking back over his shoulder. “Jim, would you please just get in here?” he insisted, growing weary of the man simply hovering in the doorway like a an awkward teen at a family reunion.

  
Jim blushed, glancing at Barbara briefly as he fixed his shirt collar and trudged on after Oswald.

  
“Anyway,” Oswald continued, satisfied with Jim’s position. “As I was saying, you know exactly what we’re referring to. You,” he said, pointing at Barbara, “had your half-witted cinder block,” he went on, gesturing to Butch, “ran Ed over.”

  
Butch let out another laugh. “Wait, what?” he chuckled, looking to Tabitha. “I think he’s finally lost it.”

Tabitha rolled her eyes. “Butch, enough,” she scolded, trying to listen to what was going on has Oswald’s veins in his temple began to bulge from anger, staring daggers at the larger man.

  
Barbara flicked her lace-gloved hand. “Yes Oswald, we know that Ed got run over. As to if we were the ones who did it,” she looked back and forth from Tabitha to Butch, stifling a laugh. “Hate to burst your bubble little man, but we just don’t care about Nygma enough to go through all that effort!”

  
Oswald briefly squeezed his lips together, trying to keep from bursting at the seams right then and there. After all, they had only just arrived. “Ed betrayed you, if I recall,” Oswald reminded the bunch. “And, not to mention, your… partners,” he said rather loosely, waving a hand dismissively at Tabitha and Butch, “seemed pretty eager to take him out. Guess they weren’t used to having someone with some intelligence hanging about and upstaging them.”

  
“Okay, that’s it-” Butch started, trying to take a step forward before Tabitha placed a firm hand on his bicep, halting him.

  
“Not now,” she said quietly to him, urging him to calm down even though see too was growing rather tired of being insulted by the beaky-nosed freak.

  
“Well if you keep talking smack about them like they’re not even here, then maybe they _will_ take a limo out to the Van Dahl Mansion next Tuesday, and hit a speedbump coincidentally.” Barbara smirked. “Can’t say I didn’t warn you Oswald. Sorry in advance.”

  
Oswald finally snapped at Barbara’s words, unsheathing his knife from his cane. “Now is NOT a good time to be threatening me _or_ Ed, Ms Kean,” Oswald warned, his voice going low.

  
“Woah woah, everybody calm down-” Barbara’s sudden death threat and Oswald’s resort to violence had awakened Jim from the daze of his midlife crisis, his reflexes popping back into reaction and darting right over to the scene of danger. Jim spread out his arms between Barbara and Oswald’s vicinity, keeping the two wolves at bay. “Wait Oswald, why did you think it was Barbara and the Sirens again?” He knew that Oswald brought him over to interrogate Barbara’s trio for Ed’s almost murder, but he didn’t exactly recall him ever saying why.

  
Oswald kept his knife up as Jim stepped between himself and Barbara, practically shaking with rage and pent-up emotions. “Jeremiah told us to go after someone who Ed had hurt before, Jim!” he said, cold green eyes locked on Barbara as he let out a delirious chuckle. “And I had no idea where to start until these morons sent Ed a basket!” he continued to laugh. “It all makes sense! Of course you couldn’t keep yourself from letting Ed go after he ruined your plans and chances of ever being on top!”

  
“Woah… he’s more nutty than I’ve ever seen him,” Butch said, thinking that he had spoken softly enough to where only Tabitha would hear until Oswald was drawing out his gun as well, pointing it at him with a shaking hand as he continued to laugh maniacally.

  
Barbara seethed. “Are you KIDDING ME?” She grabbed a bottle of $100 vodka and smashed it on the floor. “THAT CABBAGE PATCH HAS NEVER STOOD A CHANCE NEXT TO ME! I HAVE ALWAYS BEEN SMARTER, FASTER, STRONGER, THAN HE WOULD EVER BE, AND THE FACT THAT YOU HAVE THE AUDACITY TO SAY THAT IN _MY_ LOUNGE JUST GOES TO SHOW HOW EMOTIONALLY HUNGOVER YOU ARE!” 

Oswald only laughed harder, almost doubling over with the force of it all. “YOU REALLY THINK THAT YOU-” Oswald had to cut himself off in order to catch his breath, tears coming to his eyes from laughing so hard. “THAT YOU EVEN _BEGIN_ TO COMPARE TO HIM?! PLEASE! YOU’RE JUST A WHINY LITTLE GIRL WHO HAD NEVER BEEN TOLD NO A DAY IN HER LIFE!” Oswald began to laugh again, but not as powerfully, his chest starting to ache. “YOU KNOW _NOTHING_ ABOUT HIM, AND NOW YOU’RE GOING TO PAY FOR WHAT YOU’VE DONE TO HIM!” he swore, shifting his aim to Barbara with his pistol, cocking it.

  
Barbara withdrew a bedazzled pistol from her mini skirt waistline, pointing it towards Oswald as well. “YOU WANT TO KNOW WHAT THE PROBLEM IS WITH YOU AND NYGMA, OSWALD?” She stepped forward, nearly crushing the tip of his shoe. Her voice dropped low. “You are a leech. You are the King of Emotional Incest. You are so needy, and so desperate, and _possessive_ over those who you love. Maybe, it’s not that Ed doesn’t love you, it’s that you freaked him out with all your constant worrying and OBSESSING and obvious school-boy fanatics!”

She giggled, leaning in closer. “Or maybe it’s because you’re too damn sensitive. You snatch onto people, things, power like a crab; holding it in your claws and not letting it go. You scuttle out from the rocks just to pinch and take a poke at other people, but deep down, beneath your shell, you’re extremely soft, and easy to rip apart. You act like you swim with the sharks, but we all know that you’re still down on the ocean floor, scuttling around and crawling back into your shell when you get butt hurt.” She rubbed a hand through his gelled hair, messing it up. “I bet it makes you feel _so_ good to think that you’re powerful, wanted, desirable. But truth hurts when you realize that you aren’t-” she bared her teeth in his face. “And I’d bite your head off.”

  
Barbara’s words cut deeper than any blade or bullet Oswald had ever felt, slicing straight into his core. He could hear a faint ringing in his ears as his blood boiled, the grip he had on the base of his knife starting to hurt. She was right, of course. Oswald knew she was right. He had known from the moment his lips touched Ed’s why he could never have him, or anyone, for that matter. There was a reason the only people who had ever loved him were his mother, whom he had lied to, and his father, whom he had been a completely different person around.

  
He was unlovable. He always had been, and always would be. He was ruthless, selfish, and rotten to the very core. Knowing this, he didn’t blame Ed, or anyone, for not wanting to be with him. He didn’t blame Ed for not wanting to speak to him. If he were in someone else’s shoes, he wouldn’t want to either.

  
Barbara was right, but… she still had no right to tell him who he was, and she had no right to do what she had done to Ed.

  
Moving fast, Oswald lifted his pistol and lashed it across Barbara’s face with brutal force, knocking her to the ground only so he could reach down and snatch her by the front of her dress with his ‘claws’. “Do you really think you’re any better than me?” he whispered venomously, speaking close to her ear. “Do you really think you’re anything more than just some scared, fragile child _begging_ for everyone’s love and attention? Your just as alone as I am,” he growled, glancing up at Tabitha and Butch who seemed almost frozen in place. “Not even your little pet Tabitha can give herself to you,” he chuckled darkly, slowly moving his knife to Barbara’s side. “People will always choose others over you. You’re just a joke to everyone.”

And with that, Oswald plunged his knife into Barbara’s side, digging it in deep as he flashed his teeth, staring her in the eyes.

  
“OSWALD, NO-” Once again, Oswald’s violence snapped Jim out of his bewilderment, causing him to grab a lemon zester and smacking it against the side of Oswald’s face, not wanting to shoot him just yet, but only draw his attention away from Barbara. Unfortunately, Jim only made things worse, for the blade of the lemon zester sliced part of Oswald’s skin open; and blood dripped down from his temple onto his eyelid.

  
Oswald stiffened briefly as blood slowly trickled down the side of his face, staining the white collar of his shirt. He huffed out a short laugh, his eyes dark and wide as he suddenly turned, slashing open Jim’s thigh in quick succession before he grabbed the detective by his tie, slamming him against the bar. “STAY OUT OF THIS, JIM!” he warned him. “LET ME DO WHAT I DO OR I’LL- AGH!”

  
Oswald cried out as his knife was literally whipped from his hand, his wrist getting tangled in the leather before Tabitha pulled him away from Jim and Barbara, Butch holding a gun against his bleeding temple. He started to laugh again, squeezing his eyes closed as he felt tears in them, his whole resolve breaking from all the events of the past ten days.

  
“Damn, what’s happened to him?” Butch asked, staring at Oswald’s hunched over form.

  
“Don’t know, don’t care,” said Tabitha simply, also staring in bewilderment, but only at Barbara.

  
Without any warning, Oswald lashed out again, ramming into Butch, causing him to stumble back a step or two, giving him the opening he needed to shoot Tabitha in the foot. She cried out, loosening her grip on her whip, Oswald yanking it from her hold and freeing himself. He knew he couldn’t take on everyone in the room, despite his rage. If he was going to make it out alive, now was his chance. Everything that has transpired aside, Oswald still couldn’t let himself die. Not with Ed still in need of care, even though the man didn’t want him around.

  
Oswald let out another shot, hitting Butch in the arm to briefly incapacitate him, the large man dropping his gun to the ground and staring in astonishment as Oswald turned and began his route to the door, moving as fast as his broken body would allow him.

  
A blood-curdling scream escaped Barbara’s mouth as she hurled herself at Oswald; her acrylic nails sinking into his pant leg and grabbing a tight grip on his limp. She shook his leg like she was wringing out a towel, causing him to fall flat on his face with a cringey _snap_!, indicating that he had just broken his nose.

  
Oswald let out a howl, fingers clawing at the marble flooring as pain shot through his whole face and already damaged leg. He could hardly see anything but red through his eyes now, the whole world starting to blur in his anger and desperation. He turned over, meeting Barbara’s gaze as more blood dribbled down his face, past his lips, and onto his chin from his nose. He smiled, eyes wild as the blood stained his yellowing teeth, raising his gun once more and taking aim between Barbara’s brows, pulling the trigger.

The next few moments seemed to happen in slow motion for Jim Gordon. After being thrown to the ground like a rag doll, he rolled over on his back just to see Oswald fire a bullet straight between Barbara’s eyes. Despite all that had happened between them, Jim’s morality still stood, and he refused to let her die. Not there, not now, not in her own bar. “NOOO!”

  
Jim dauntlessly dove in front of the gun without hesitating, the silver bullet grazing his ear and nipping some of it off. A grape sized piece of cartilage sailed onto the floor, Jim watching it in disbelief. The pain only kicked in twenty seconds later, after he felt the hot blood gush out and stain all his clothes.

  
Oswald cursed under his breath as what was left of Jim’s ear bled onto the detective. He hadn’t meant for that to happen, but he couldn’t even manage to feel a twinge of guilt after everything that had led up to this moment. 

  
He seized the opportunity once more, stumbling to his feet and throwing himself through the curtains he so despised, finally making it to the front entrance and falling out into the snow. He shivered, coughing out water that had just been snow, staring down at the red from his blood that mixed in with the blinding white.

  
He now began to shake in realization from all that he had just done, breaking out into a crazed fit of laughter again as he got back up on his feet, hobbling over to Jim’s car. He didn’t have time to call for a ride, so he’d have to hotwire the old Cadillac. Thankfully, the doors were left unlocked, allowing Oswald to slide right into the driver’s seat, his bad leg aching in protest with every move he made. His face, however, felt more numb after falling into the snow.

  
Quickly, he got down to work, slamming his fist on the plastic cover under the steering wheel until it came loose. He slid his gloved fingers inside the panel, pulling out the wiring he needed. He removed a glove with his teeth, making incisions into certain wires with his nails and twisting them together. After a few tries, the engine jolted to life, Oswald collapsing back into the leather seat in relief.

  
He hissed in pain as he pressed down on the gas pedal with his injured leg, banging the car door shut as he took off in the direction of home, leaving Jim and the injured Sirens in his wake. 


	17. #PrayforPenguin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 17 of Gotham: Secret of the Labyrinth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CAST LIST:   
> Edward Nygma- Emmaline   
> Oswald Cobblepot- Zella   
> Everyone else- Zella

Oswald raced down the back roads leading to the Van Dahl Mansion, adrenaline still flowing through every vein in his body as his own blood caked to his face and leg. He just wanted to get home and throw himself into a warm bath. Of course, first, he’d have to patch himself up and reset his nose, which, thankfully, after working for Fish Mooney, was something that he had learned to do. The last thing he needed was for his nose to more freakish than it already did.

  
As Oswald neared home, he could have sworn that he spotted smoke above the trees, right where the mansion would be. He pressed down more firmly onto the gas pedal, driving at an alarming pace. He had to be imagining things. Maybe Olga just had a fire going for him in the parlor? That had to have been it. He had security guarding the mansion, so no one could have sabotaged the house.

  
No one on the outside, at least.

  
Oswald kept his hopes as high as he could manage after the literal hell he had been enduring for over a week, but as Van Dahl Mansion came into view, those hopes were all crushed in a single, heart wrenching moment.  
He flew down the driveway, a cloud of dust behind him and a cloud of smoke before him as he watched his home be engulfed in flames.

  
_No… No… This can’t be real..._

  
Everything he had was in the house, turning to ash. All of his personal belongings as well as the things he had inherited from his mother and his father… All he had now were the memories… Memories of his father, of Ed-

_Ed._

  
Oswald pulled off into the grass, throwing open the car door as he lurched out of the vehicle, the ash and smoke in the air burning his eyes as he gawked up at the mansion, watching as it caved in and tumbled apart.   
Ed.

  
He swiftly looked around, searching for anything, anything that would give him a sign that Ed was alright while his heart beat furiously in his chest. It almost felt like his lungs were threatening to give out, and he could no longer tell if it was from the debris or from heightened panic.

  
“Mr. Cobblepot!” he heard someone shout.

  
He spun around to see one of the men he had had stationed around the mansion coming towards him from the side of the mansion. He had never cared to learn his name.

  
“Sir, are you alri-”

  
Oswald grabbed the man once he was close enough, bringing him in near his bloodied face. “WHERE’S ED?” he shouted, knuckles turning white against the shirt that he held.

  
“I- I don’t know, sir, I-”

  
“YOU _DON’T KNOW_?! YOU ALL WERE ORDERED TO PROTECT HIM! I-”

  
“By the time the boys and I noticed what was going on the fire was too bi-”

  
“SHUT UP!” Oswald shrieked, backhanding the man as he breathed heavily. “JUST SHUT UP!” he repeated, shaking the goon furiously. “YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO PROTECT HIM! YOU ALL WERE! HE WAS ALL THAT MATTERED! HE WAS ALL THAT MATTERED AND YOU ALL LEFT HIM TO DIE!” He was crying now, he realized, shoving the goon onto the ground. He wanted to kill him. He wanted to watch as the man’s life slowly drained from his body, but there was still a chance that Ed was alive, and he wasn’t sure he had the strength to deal with the man right now, even with his rage burning almost as strongly as the mansion itself.

  
The man quickly shuffled back before getting to his feet and taking off as fast as he could, knowing better than to stick around and deal with Oswald’s fury and loss.

  
Oswald stumbled forward, getting closer to the burning mansion that he once called a home. He coughed, the smoke and ash being inhaled and filling his throat and lungs. Quickly, he wrapped his scarf around his broken nose and mouth, trying his best to keep embers out of his system.

  
As he approached what remained of the front door, more of the mansion collapsed, nearly landing on top of him as he jumped back hurriedly, narrowly avoiding death for the umpteenth time that week. Some of the debris, however, did land onto his left foot, causing him to curse as he rapidly shook it off his scorched leather shoes. It looked like he was going to have to find another way into the mansion, if there even was a way inside the burning skeleton of a home.

Tears and soot filled his eyes as he squinted, making his way to the side of the mansion. Perhaps he’d have better luck with the backdoor. There had to be something he could do. If Ed was still in there, he-

  
Oswald froze as his blurred vision focused on the outline of a body at the snowy well in the yard. He wiped at his eyes, smearing tears and blood as he urged himself to move forward, the figure becoming more recognizable.

  
It was Ed.

  
_It was Ed._

  
He rushed to the man’s side, immediately taking notice of the burns on his body and the way his broken leg was lying in an awkward position. “Ed!” he called out, placing his hands on Ed’s shoulders, his chest, his face - anywhere he could touch. “ED!” he shouted, gently shaking him only for his head to lull to the side.

  
He wasn’t waking up. He wasn’t even moving. “ED!” he wailed, tears sliding down his cheeks and falling onto the other man’s body.

  
Ed was… gone. Everything he had… gone in an instant. Maybe if he had stayed instead of going after Barbara and the others…. Maybe he could have saved Ed. He should have been there. He blamed Barbara for not being able to put her petty bitterness aside, but it was exactly that that caused him to leave the mansion and leave Ed and-

  
Oswald fully broke down, throwing himself over Ed’s body and clinging to him, his fingers digging into the fabric of his clothes. “ED!” he sobbed, unable to stop himself from calling out to a man who would never answer or speak, or smile, or laugh again. No more silly riddles or songs or even ridiculous, meaningless arguments over nothing.

  
He hadn’t even gotten a chance to apologize to him again. He hadn’t gotten to say that he was sorry for all that he had done. All the lies, manipulation, betrayal… everything. Every selfish little thing he had ever done to the man he had claimed to have loved so deeply. It wasn’t fair! It wasn’t fair! He had tried! He had tried so hard and it was _still all for nothing_! Everything he ever did just gave him nothing! What was any of it for? He had climbed so high just to lose it all over, and over, and _over_ again… And just when he thought he finally had everything… it was gone. It was all gone. Every single thing he cared about. The only person he cared about… _gone_!

  
“Dammit, Ed!” he sobbed into the man’s neck, his skin still warm, his longer hair tickling his bloodied, broken nose while the heat of the raging fire behind him warmed his back. “You weren’t supposed to die!” he choked out, his voice cracking in his vulnerability. “I- I was coming right back! I- I’m so sorry!” He shook violently as he continued to cry onto Ed. “I’ve been- I’ve been such a fool! I shouldn’t have left, or- or done all of tho- those things to you, Ed. I’m so, so sorry, Ed. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I- Ed!”

  
Ed’s body began to seize and twitch like a dead bug, only confirming Oswald’s greatest fears. The horror of all that had happened was only getting worse, and Oswald couldn’t bear to look at Ed’s deceased body tremor. However, the movements only got more violent, Ed’s chest heaving. Wait, was he… choking? “Ed?” he called out yet again, sitting up.

  
Slowly but surely, the previously dead Edward Nygma rose weakly; his rib cage caving in and out as his breath hitched and gagged on leftover smoke. Ed unknowingly dug his palm into Oswald’s leg for support, and his other hand clawed at his throat.

  
Oswald gasp, not even registering the pain in his leg as he watched Ed jolt to life again, choking on what Oswald’s assumed was ash caught in his lungs. “ED!” he shouted, tears still sliding down his face, but now more in relief than anguish. He grabbed the man’s face, shaking with emotion. “Ed, just breathe,” he tried, panicking himself, moving his hands to Ed’s shoulder’s again.

  
Ed blinked rapidly, wiping tears and sweat from his eyes as he adjusted to the settings around him. He sniffled a bit, shielding his head away from the blazing building and taking in the rest of his surroundings. He looked down at his sooty body, and his half-burned robe that exposed far too much of his thigh. He then looked up at Oswald, having absolutely no clue what to say. “...oops.”

  
Oswald stared blankly at Ed before letting out a wet laugh, throwing his arms around the other man as the sound of the crackling fire seemed to vanish, his only focus on Ed. “You’re alive…” he breathed, laughing some more as he continued to cry. “You’re alive,” he repeated, sounding more like he was still trying to convince himself rather than stating a fact. 

Ed didn’t move as Oswald pulled his body in tighter, still traumatized and in disbelief at what had just happened. However, his ribcage began to feel as if it would burst again, and he gave a rather forceful shove at Oswald.

“GIVE-” he coughed, “ME SOME SPA-” he wheezed again, this time his cast sliding over the edge of the well. “AH-” he threw his arms around Oswald’s neck.

  
Oswald started to let go just as Ed threw himself around him, bringing him back in. “Uh… Ed?” he said a bit dumbly, blinking and carefully placing his hands on his back again, his hold much looser than last time. “Do you want me to let go, or…” He drifted off, feeling completely uncertain in this moment. He was just so grateful to have Ed alive that he wasn’t really sure what to do with himself. At least he hadn’t been smacked for talking to him or touching him yet, so that was another plus.

  
“I’M FALLING OFF OF A WELL _DO NOT LET ME GO_ -” Ed clenched his arms tighter around Oswald’s neck as he swung his feet wildly, attempting to climb back to the center of the well.

  
“Okay, okay, I’ve got you,” Oswald insisted, trying not to focus too much on Ed’s touch as he continued to hold onto him. “Here, just let me-” He kept one hand placed firmly on Ed’s back, using his other hand to slide under Ed’s knees, bracing himself as he scooped Ed up into his arms, doing his best to not stumble backwards and fall into the snow. The man was tall, but at least he was skinny, especially after the accident.

  
Ed caught himself on the well’s hay, clenching the fibers tightly in his fist for dear life. He then adjusted his body, turning his explicitly exposed thigh away from Oswald, but still managing to face him directly. He swallowed, the saliva moisenting up his parched throat. “I uh…” he gesticulated out to what used to be the Van Dahl Mansion. “I Bahama Burned your house down. I’m sincerely sorry.”

  
Oswald glanced back at what remained of his home, watching it burn for a few seconds as his expression fell momentarily. “It doesn’t matter now,” he decided with a short sigh. There was nothing that could be done at this point. Although, he had no idea what the Bahamas had to do with anything. Perhaps all the smoke was getting to Ed’s head. “What matters is that you’re okay…” he said, turning back to Ed and offering him a slight smile. “You, um, are okay… aren’t you?”

  
Ed shook his head. “No. But I’ll be fine.” Under his breath, he whispered, “shucking wheelchair.”

  
Oswald huffed out a laugh, the events of the day starting to catch up with him and exhaust him to his core. “We’ll get you a new one,” he promised, wanting to reach out and touch him again but thinking better of it.

  
Ed’s head snapped up. “nO!” He grabbed Oswald by the collar and shook him back and forth. “IF IT WEREN’T FOR THAT STUPID WHEELCHAIR, I WOULD’VE MADE IT OUT A LOT EASIER, AND FASTER THAN HOW I DID!” He hollered, spit flying out of his mouth as he unloaded his anger onto Oswald. “I HAD TO SLIDE DOWN THE RAILING OF THE STAIRS, THE _STAIRS_ , LIKE A FIVE YEAR OLD, AND THEN I FELL OFF OF THEM INTO A FIDDLE LEAF FIG!!!!” He slashed the air. “I AM NOT SITTING IN A WHEELCHAIR EVER, EVER AGAIN!”

  
“OKAY, OKAY!” Oswald shouted back, covering Ed’s hands with his own. “NO WHEELCHAIR!” he assured the angered man. “YOU’VE MADE YOUR POINT!” He took a breath, waiting for Ed to calm down.

  
His hands slid down Ed’s arms, squeezing them gently. “Ed… I- I’m sorry for the other night,” he said quickly, knowing now was probably not the best time to discuss things while your house and everything you owned burned away behind you, but he just couldn’t hold it in any longer - especially not after almost just loosing Ed for good. “I shouldn’t have… done what I did to you. I crossed a line, and I, well… can we just move past it and be friends again?” he suggested, hopeful. He didn’t want to hold onto these false hopes that he and Ed still had a chance to be… something more anymore. Barbara had been right about him back in the Sirens Club. He was not wanted or desired by Ed. He was too clingy and overbearing, and, well… he didn’t want to be that way anymore. He just wanted Ed to be happy, and if that meant keeping his distance, then so be it.

Ed coughed. He plucked Oswald’s hands off of his shoulders and dropped them to the side. “Oswald...I…” the gut-wrenching remorse and anguish that had broken Ed’s soul over the past few days showed up in his face, his dry eyes watering up with tears. “I can’t be friends with anyone until I get my memories back. I’m too...I’m too lost. I’m too scared. I’m too incomplete. I, I feel…” he wiped his eyes and changed his gaze to the sky. “I feel like I’m in a silent movie. Everything around me is black and white. I can see that people are moving, and speaking, and talking, but I can’t hear them, or communicate. I knock over pots, and burn down houses, and scream my head off but no matter what I do, I CAN’T MAKE ANY SOUND! NO ONE CAN HEAR ME! LIFE KEEPS MOVING ON, LIFE KEEPS PROGRESSING, LIFE KEEPS PRESSING PLAY AND I’M STILL HERE, CAUGHT IN A FREEZE FRAME, PRESSING MY HANDS UP AGAINST THE GLASS AND JUST WATCHING, POWERLESS, UNABLE TO REMEMBER, UNABLE TO USE MY VOICE, OR MY _MIND_ , SEEING HOW _EVERYTHING_ ELSE IN THE WORLD IS CARRYING ON, AND I AM LEFT ALONE WITH NOTHING TO DO BUT JUST SIT, AND WATCH- FEEBLE, HOPELESS, ROTTING. DYING.”

  
Ed’s whole body shook back and forth, his tears catching up in his throat. “I, I AM ISOLATED FROM MYSELF AND THE WORLD! ALL THE OTHER CHARACTERS AND PEOPLE ARE FINE, BUT NOT ME! I AM MUTE! I CAN’T SCREAM! I CAN’T, I CAN’T, I CAN’T EVEN WALK-” he broke off.

  
“Ed, Ed,” Oswald said as calmly as he could, trying to take in all of Ed’s words and frustration even though all it did was just break his heart even more. He felt like it was all his fault for the way Ed was feeling. He was keeping the truth from Ed and all it was doing was driving him mad… It wasn’t right, but, also, now was most definitely not the time to tell him all that had happened during those months that Ed was forgetting. Not while Ed was still recovering.

  
Oswald wiped more at the dried blood on his face, brushing his broken nose and wincing. God, he just wished he could close his eyes and all of this would be over or some terrible, twisted dream. He still so badly wanted to touch the man before him and try to comfort him, but he knew he shouldn’t and he wasn’t quite sure what it was he should do. Comfort was never his specialty.

  
He took a breath, staring up at the smoky sky for a moment as he tried to push his own feelings aside and focus on Ed and his grievances. “Edward Nygma…” he began, looking him back in the eye and shoving his hands in his coat pockets to keep him from reaching out once more. “You are, without a doubt, the smartest, most brilliant person I have ever met,” he told him, tears beginning to invade his own eyes once more, surprising him that he even had any left. “I’ve seen you rise so high from nothing and- and I know for a fact that if there is anyone that can make it through all of this… it’s you,” he said with utter certainty. “You’ve always been the strong one, Ed. It’s me who’s the mess,” he admitted with a wet chuckle, wiping away a tear and sniffling. “Just know that… I’m here for you. No matter what. I know that doesn’t mean much, but I- I do care for you, Ed. And I do want you to be okay again, and I know you will be. It may take some time, but… I know you… and you will prevail,” he promised, gripping the inside of his coat pockets as he tried not to let his emotions get too carried away.

  
Ed smiled, the insurmountable pain still lingering in his eyes but his face now showing genuine empathy. “Thanks, Oswald.” He responded softly.

  
For a moment the two deviants sat there, locking eyes and exchanging a feeling that words could not express. Ed felt an arousing, jittery feeling in his stomach, but then got so scared by it that he cleared his throat and turned the attention back to the house. “So...hotel?”

  
Oswald looked back at the mansion as well, the spell he had just been under now broken. It was going to be hard to try and cast his feelings aside again, but he’d do his best for Ed’s sake. “I think that’s our best option, for now,” he agreed with a labored sigh. “I may have stolen Jim’s car, so we should probably get going now,” he admitted, extending an arm. “I may not be so good at walking myself, but perhaps I can offer you something to lean on?”

  
“Pfft.” Ed rolled his eyes, teasing Oswald playfully. “Whatever.”

  
Oswald chuckled, helping Ed off the well, making sure he didn’t put too much pressure on his broken leg. He carefully wrapped an arm around Ed’s back, offering him support as they slowly limped through the snow together towards Jim’s abandoned car. 

They kept quiet, which was probably for the best, Oswald too afraid that words would spill out of him if things got too intense yet again.

  
All of a sudden Ed squealed. “STOP MOVING STOP MOVING-” He rudely pushed Oswald out of the way, sending the man straight into a bog berry bush. “SORRY-” In the spur of the moment, Ed forgot that he had a cast, so he attempted to dash across the ice and snow but ended up collapsing on his face. He cursed, but got up anyways, pioneering through the wintry landscape like a World War II soldier.

  
“AHA!” Ed laughed maniacally. “LOOKS LIKE ALL IS NOT LOST, OSWALD!” He reached down and dug up something from underneath a charred column. “LOOK WHAT I FOUND!” He held up his glittery green suit, a psychotic smile brightening up his disposition.

  
Oswald groaned, throwing his head back before getting back up on his feet, brushing the snow off his aching body. “How the hell did _that_ survive the fire?” he grumbled, thinking about all the valuable, irreplaceable items that perished instead. “Well, at least your happy, I suppose,” he said with a roll of his eyes, hobbling over to Ed’s side and glaring at the outrageous suit. “I don’t even think I remember you wearing that one…” he mused, nose scrunched in distaste. Ed’s normal suits were one things, but this one was a bit… much.

  
“Can we please go to the car now? You’re going to end up catching a cold out here at this rate,” he said, exhaling.

  
Ed nodded emphatically, his low spirits brought up temporarily in the overjoy of finding the emerald pizzazz intact. He hobbled over to Oswald, wrapped an arm around his waist, and hopped inside the back of Jim Gordon’s car, scrupulously folding up the suit and resting it on the dashboard.

  
Oswald snorted at Ed’s attachment to the suit, but was glad to see him a bit more back to normal, at least. He reached underneath the steering wheel again to rewire the car, starting it up once more. “So… I may have made a bit of a mess at the Sirens today,” he said conversationally as he pulled out of the driveway, leaving his still burning home behind him and beginning their journey back into Gotham City.


	18. Update

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Update

Hello everyone. 

I sincerely apologize for how long it has been since I have uploaded this story to archive. There have been things in my life that have changed since the last time I was available, and I had to put other things before this. The rest of the story will be uploaded at some point hopefully within the next few weeks, as I have graduated school for the year and have some more time on my hands. 

But about that- when Zella and I first started this collab together, we didn't anticipate how big and developed it would turn into, and as time went on, we both found it difficult to keep in touch and collaborate on a weekly or daily basis. I enjoyed my time with her, but unfortunately, she had to leave, and so the current timeline has been put on a hold. However, I will say that there is something still in development that has spawned from the work that we have been doing, and I am looking forward to sharing that all with you. I hope to get that out as soon as possible. 

If my schedule does not go as planned, then I will release a summary of the rest of the current story on here and answer any questions that you guys may have. 

I truly enjoyed working on this, and it has taught me many things about writing and many things about people. Gotham has been a part of my life for the past six or seven months, and finding a home and people to connect with and love through it has changed my perspective and given me passion and purpose. I loved being able to exercise comedy, and explore a humorous side to these characters that we know and love. Again, I apologize for not being as active as I wish I could have been, but I will keep pursuing my other work and wrapping up what Zella and I started. 

Thank you, to anyone who is still here and to anyone who enjoyed this story. Your kind comments really made me proud of what we had accomplished, and I hope that you enjoy the ending as well. 

Love, Emily.


End file.
